


Courtyard of the White Tree

by baranduin



Series: Courtyard of the White Tree [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the Ring, Frodo meets Faramir again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapters 1-5

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for beta reading the last few chapters to Hope and Trianne.
> 
> I wrote this story before The Two Towers movie came out but after pictures of David Wenham in costume as Faramir had appeared. So, while the story line follows book canon, Faramir most definitely resembles David Wenham!
> 
> The occasional text in italics are taken from the book.

_"Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"_

* * *

Chapter 1

Frodo sat in the courtyard of the tree listening to the gentle splash of the fountain. The softly circulating water muffled the sounds of the banquet celebrating Aragorn's coronation.

"The King," Frodo thought. It still seemed a dream to him that he was safe here in Minas Tirith with all his friends and that Aragorn was King. "He is King … I carried the crown to him myself." He shivered lightly though not from cold. Only a few short weeks had passed since he had stood on the fiery brink and the world had been changed by a simple slip over its edge.

He pulled a little at his tunic with restless fingers, worrying away at the stiff brocade that constricted him and scratched his neck. He had felt a little foolish when the fine garments had been brought to him that morning--clothes of ivory silk with the emblem of the white tree embroidered in silver thread. Only garments fit for a king's coronation would do, and he had worn them proudly, though he had pulled at them surreptitiously through the long day. He had shared many a grimace with the other hobbits as they all fidgeted and fussed with their finery--all except Pippin, who had grown used to the formal attire of Gondor during his service to Denethor. Pippin had shushed them repeatedly with ill-concealed grins at their discomfort.

"Ow!" The mithril circlet would be the death of him. For the hundredth time that day, the filigreed band slipped down his forehead and poked him in the eye. "Surely I can take it off now that it's dark and the banquet is almost over." He grasped it carefully with his fingers; but when he tried to pull it off, it caught in his hair. Yanking at it only tangled the dratted thing further, his curls snagging tight in finely wrought blossoms. He stifled an oath and sat still with his arms folded across his chest.

"Do you need some help?" asked an amused voice.

Frodo looked up and saw Faramir walking to him across the shadowed lawn. Shrugging helplessly, he laughed and said, "Yes, please; do get this thing off me. I've made a fearful mess."

Faramir knelt by Frodo and examined the problem with a grave look though the corners of his mouth twitched lightly. He murmured, "How on earth did you get in such a tangle?"

"I don't know. It's been plaguing me all day. I'm afraid I'm just not used to wearing such things."

"Ah, hobbits don't normally wear them, I take it?" Faramir tugged experimentally at the circlet.

"Yes, exactly. Ouch! We don't have much need for them in Hobbiton, you see."

"Yes, hmm." Faramir stopped tugging and let the offending band rest while he combed his fingers cautiously through Frodo's curls. Slowly, the tangles fell away and the circlet dropped down over Frodo's eyes. "There." Faramir pulled it off and set it in Frodo's lap.

"Thank you. I thought I'd never get it off," said Frodo. He smiled at Faramir as the Steward seated himself on the bench next to him. They sat quietly listening to the fountain and the sounds of laughter that drifted toward them from the hall.

Frodo had not had the chance to speak with Faramir during the day. While they had been together much--he had taken Aragorn's crown from Faramir's hands--the day's events prevented conversation. Now that they were alone, Frodo felt suddenly tongue-tied though he had so many things he wanted to ask Faramir. There were so many things he wanted to know that he didn't know where to start.

Faramir spoke softly. "Why did you leave the banquet? I was worried to look up and find you gone."

"It was so loud and warm that I just got overwhelmed. I needed to get a little air and clear my head."

"Are you better now?"

"Oh, yes, much … especially without that thing squeezing my head." Frodo looked up into Faramir's smiling eyes and wondered why he had felt shy of the grave young man. "But don't let me keep you from everyone. I'm fine here by myself."

"I like it better out here with you. The hall was a little close with all the heat and noise. Do you mind if I stay?"

"No, of course not." Frodo looked down at the circlet resting in his lap, glad at the lightness filling his heart. "It's good to see you again."

"Yes, it is--very good. I thought of you so many times after you and Sam left me--where you were, if you were all right."

"Well, wherever I was, I'm here now."

They sat in silence but not awkwardly. It seemed to Frodo that two old friends who had not met in many years had come together unexpectedly and picked up from where they had left off. It didn't make sense, yet he didn't question the ease that being in Faramir's presence gave him.

A stiff breeze sprang up and rattled through the dead tree in the center of the courtyard, its dry twigs and branches tapping together like creaking old bones.

Frodo asked, "Why is this tree here? It looks so lonely like that."

"Do you know the rhyme? _Seven stars and seven stones and one white tree."_

"I have heard it. Is this the white tree?"

"Yes, there has always been one in this courtyard, alive or dead. It will stay here until a sapling is found to replace it."

"When will that be?"

"I do not know. It is the King's duty to find it."

Frodo smiled broadly. "Then no doubt one will be found soon if Aragorn is doing the seeking."

"Yes, no doubt."

"You wear one yourself." Frodo lifted his hand to Faramir's chest and lightly traced the shapely outline of the white tree embroidered on Faramir's robe. The softness of the figured silk did not conceal the firm chest beneath Frodo's stroking fingers. He forgot himself as he outlined the curves of the tree's blossoming branches. When he heard Faramir's breath catch, he looked up. Faramir's eyes were fixed on Frodo's hand in a strained look, his brow knotted.

Frodo snatched his hand away and fisted it against his side, trying to hide the ugly gap. The knot of flesh at the tip of what was left of his finger was still an angry red that stood out in harsh contrast to the paleness of his skin. He looked away, his face hot with shame that he had drawn attention to his mutilation.

"Frodo?"

"I'm sorry. It's so ugly, I know. I didn't mean to make you look at it … can't stand to look at it myself. Just like everyone else. I see them all trying to look anywhere but at my hand."

Frodo sat breathing in jerky gasps, willing away the tears that were welling up. He would not give in to it, not tonight. After slowing his breathing, he turned back to Faramir and forced himself to look up into his eyes, determined to accept calmly whatever he saw there, whether it was disgust or pity.

There were tears in Faramir's Numenorean gray eyes. Frodo started a little; he had not expected that. Faramir smiled tenderly at him and pulled the hobbit's tightly furled fist into his hands. He pulled each finger open with care and cradled the small hand in his palm. Stroking lightly, he ran his thumb over and around Frodo's wound.

He asked hoarsely, "Does it hurt much?"

"Sometimes … throbs when I get tired."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Faramir stopped his gentle massage and closed his hand atop Frodo's. The throbbing slowed in Faramir's warm clasp until it disappeared, leaving Frodo a little lightheaded. His eyelids grew heavy.

Faramir said, "It has been a long day for us all … perhaps the most for you. You need to sleep now. Where are you staying?"

Frodo spoke with a thick tongue, tiredness finally overwhelming him. "With Gandalf--he has a house nearby."

"Come. I will take you there."

Frodo shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. "But I have so many things to ask you."

"They can wait until tomorrow. After all, it's not like it was in Ithilien. We can speak more tomorrow. I will come find you, and you can ask me anything you like. That is, you can if you'll satisfy my own questions afterward."

"If I can. It's still so hard to remember much of what happened."

"Sshh. Then you can tell me what you will, and I will be content. Come now. It's late, and you should be in bed."

Frodo said, "All right," and stood up.

They walked slowly across the lawn and through the quiet streets of the Citadel, the moonlight casting a soft radiance on the white stone. Faramir held Frodo's shoulder lightly as they walked in comfortable silence.

Frodo stopped before a small house in a narrow street. A flickering light shone from one of its windows. "This is Gandalf's house."

They stood facing each other. Frodo looked up at the face that regarded him so solemnly, remembering how Faramir had looked at him just that way at the cave of Henneth Annun. The sudden trust that he had felt then flooded him again in a sweet rush.

Faramir knelt down, their eyes level. "Rest well, Frodo. I will see you tomorrow." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Frodo's cheek. Standing up, he caressed Frodo's brow and said, "Good night."

"'Night," breathed Frodo. He watched Faramir turn and walk rapidly down the street before he went inside. Closing the door, he leaned against it in the dim light and stroked his cheek, still feeling the warmth of Faramir's lips. He smiled.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

Chapter 2

Faramir did not see Frodo the next day or, indeed, the day after that. When he went to Gandalf's house the afternoon after the coronation, he was told by the servant who answered the door that Frodo was still resting and not able to see anyone. While it gave him a sharp pang of disappointment, Faramir was not too surprised that the hobbit was so tired from the exertions of the previous day. "After all, he is still recovering from his long burden and the injury to his hand. I will see him tomorrow," he thought as he walked away from the house.

But the next few days were taken up with attending on Aragorn. The King received the many embassies that came to offer him their fealty or sue for peace. The more somber duty of passing judgment also took place, most grievous to many that of Beregond of the Guard. Faramir's breath hitched as Aragorn laid out Beregond's offense. His apprehension dissolved into delight when Aragorn pronounced the guard's sentence.

It was the surprise of Faramir's life to hear the words: _"So it must be, for you are appointed to the White Company, the Guard of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be its captain and dwell in Emyn Arnen in honour and peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to save him from death."_

Faramir would go to Ithilien and see it returned to its former glory as the garden of Gondor. Overseeing its restoration--repairing its fouled statues, planting saplings to replace the trees hewn down so wantonly by Sauron's forces--would be his life's cherished work. At last, he could lay down the sword that he had wielded willingly yet without joy.

So deep in thought was Faramir that he did not see Eomer and Eowyn approach him. With a laugh, Eowyn tugged at his sleeve to get his attention.

"Oh!"

"Where were you, my love?" Eowyn asked, stroking his cheek.

Faramir blushed and laughed in his turn. "Planting trees in Ithilien."

"You are pleased, then, with Aragorn's gift?"

"Yes … oh, yes. It is more than I ever dreamed of." Faramir frowned. "Forgive me. I have not thought to ask if it pleases you. After all, it will be your home as well … that is, if you think you can bear it."

Eowyn quirked her mouth at Faramir in a mock grimace. "Bear it? I might be able to … that is, if you think your people can suffer a shieldmaiden in their midst."

He took her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. "They will all come to love you as I do. If they don't, well, you can just put on your shield again and smite them with the flat of your sword until they come to their senses."

They all laughed, the sound sweet to their ears after so many years of harsh toil and tears. At last, Faramir asked, "You are leaving soon?"

Eomer answered, "Yes, within the hour. But I won't take her from you for too long. Goodbye for now, brother. Eowyn, don't be too long. We must be going."

After walking away a few feet, Eomer stopped and looked back at the pair. "Faramir, what news of the Halfing? Is he better?"

Faramir's blood ran cold at Eomer's words. "Is one of the hobbits ailing? I have not heard that. Which one?" he asked, his voice growing a little shrill from the fear rising in him.

Brother and sister looked at each other. Eowyn motioned to Eomer to continue on his way and said softly to Faramir, "I thought you would have heard. It is the Ringbearer. Meriadoc told us he was taken ill the night of the coronation. No doubt it was too much for him. He has had only a few weeks to recover from many months of suffering."

Faramir spoke slowly, each word coming with great effort. "I went to his house the day after the coronation. I wasn't able to see him, but the servant said nothing about his being ill. He just said that Frodo was resting, which was no surprise to me."

Stroking his forehead, Eowyn whispered, "He will recover. Surely it is just a small setback, one of many he will continue to have for a long time."

Faramir stammered, "Yes … yes … of course. You are right. It's just difficult not to worry about him after all he's been through. You didn't see him as I did in Ithilien. I felt so helpless that I could do so little for him. He was so brave there." Faramir shook his head at the memory.

"I see he has touched your heart just as Meriadoc has mine. I am glad to have met them--so light of heart yet filled with courage."

Taking Eowyn's hand in his, Faramir pulled her to him. "I am glad to have met them, too. Frodo is probably recovered even as we speak. He is very strong. Now, let me take you to Eomer. I expect he grows impatient to be off."

Eowyn laughed. "Yes, I expect he does. And you … you take care of yourself. It is not so long since you were injured yourself."

"I'm fine. Trust me, the Warden will see to it that I do not overtax myself. He is very tenacious, as you well know." He stroked her healed arm as he spoke.

"That I do."

They walked away, heads close together in last-minute endearments though they knew they would not be parted long.

* * *

In late afternoon, Faramir wandered to the courtyard of the white tree. Eowyn had spoken the truth when she warned him about not overdoing things. His head throbbed in concert with the Nazgul wound in his chest. As he drew closer to the courtyard, he heard hobbit voices and quickened his pace. Entering the small square, he looked around quickly for Frodo. He was not there, but Pippin, Merry, and Sam were sitting on the lawn looking at the tree.

Sam said thoughtfully, "Right sad it looks, all alone like that. I'd like to see it blooming again."

"You'd make it bloom if anyone could," said Pippin. "It seemed right when I saw it the first time. Not now--now that Aragorn has come into his own."

"Perhaps a sapling will take its place soon."

The three hobbits looked up at hearing Faramir speak.

Sam asked eagerly, "Is there one? I'd like to see it."

Faramir smiled. "Not yet. Pippin is right, though, it doesn't seem right now that the King has returned. I think Aragorn will find one very soon."

"What will happen to the old tree when the new one replaces it?" Merry asked with a little quiver in his voice. "I hope it won't just be tossed out."

"No indeed, not after standing guard here so loyally these long years. Rest assured, Merry, the old tree will receive an honored rest. Master Samwise, perhaps you would like to help plant the sapling when it is found?"

Sam blushed and nodded but said nothing. Merry and Pippin poked each other, looking sidelong at Sam.

When Sam continued to be silent, Pippin said, "He'd be honored and would tell you if he could find his tongue."

Faramir said gravely, "I thought as much. Well, I shall make sure you are included in the planting. It will be quite a ceremony, one that has not been seen in living memory."

"Thank you, Captain Faramir," Sam said, finally finding his voice.

"That's Prince Faramir to you," said Pippin. "Haven't you heard the news? Will you be going to Ithilien soon, Prince Faramir?"

"Just 'Faramir' will do among friends. And yes, I will go there soon. There is much work to be done. I could use a gardener of such high repute as you, Sam. But, there, I expect you and the others will be going home to the Shire before long."

"Right you are, Capt … Faramir. Not that I wouldn't like to see Ithilien again and help you, but home is waiting and all," said Sam.

Faramir sat on the grass next to the hobbits, the pain in his head and chest receding a little. After a minute, he asked softly, "How is Frodo? I did not know he was ill."

Merry said, "He's a little better this afternoon … more awake and not in so much pain as he was the last few days."

"His hand troubled him greatly?"

"Well, yes, that--mostly his other wounds."

A cold pit gathered in Faramir's stomach. "Other wounds?"

The three hobbits looked at each other quickly before Merry answered. "It's not just his hand, though that does hurt him. But it's the wounds in his shoulder and neck that trouble him more … the poison is still there, I think."

"Tell me. I did not know." Faramir rubbed his chest, his scar a hot flash of pain.

"A Ringwraith stabbed him in the shoulder with a Morgul blade at Weathertop. We were on our way to Rivendell with Strider … that is, with Aragorn. Elrond healed him--got the point of the blade out that was working its way inward--but it still bothers him."

"And his neck?"

Sam spoke in a low voice full of pain. "It happened at Cirith Ungol. A great spider--Shelob--stung him in the neck. I found him lying like he was dead. He was so still that I thought he was dead. I wouldn't have left him if I thought he was alive. But I found him again and got him away … not before they beat him." His voice choked with tears."

"Who beat him?"

"The orcs. I would have killed them all if I could have."

Merry said, "We all would have. But he survived, and he's tough--tougher than all of us. He's better today, and he'll feel even better tomorrow. Will you come see him, Faramir?"

"Yes, of course. I did come the day after the coronation, but the servant told me he was resting and couldn't be seen."

"I'll speak with the house servants and tell them to let you in. It's not right that you were turned away. It won't happen again. I know Frodo would like to see you."

"Thank you."

Sam broke in eagerly. "Make him feel better to see you, I reckon. He likes you--did from the first, when we met you in Ithilien. He trusted you, you know. Don't know how he saw he could, but he did."

Faramir spoke with a lightness that he did not feel. "I will come tomorrow. Thank you for telling me about his other wounds. I wish I had known before, not that I can do anything for him."

Merry said, "I don't know. Maybe you can. That wound in your chest--the one you keep rubbing--it's like his, isn't it? Like mine though my skin wasn't pierced by any blade."

"Yes, it is." He stood up and stretched, his limbs filled with a weariness that he had not felt in many days. "I must go now. Please tell Frodo that I will come see him tomorrow."

Three voices piped up. "We will."

* * *

Chapter 3

Wavering green shadows danced across the ceiling as the gentle wind in the trees' branches shifted. Watching the play of the friendly shadows had been Frodo's only distraction in the days that he had been bedridden. He had watched them for hours, charting their progress across the ceiling as the sun had made its daily journey across the sky--too feeble and listless to do more than turn his head. They had called to him to come out into the bright sunshine, but he had been too exhausted to even walk to the window to look on the trees in the small garden at the back of Gandalf's house.

Today was better. The other shadows had drawn back once more--the ones that had encircled him waking and sleeping, pulling him down into familiar nightmares of pursuit. The pain from his wounds had released him from its relentless grip, leaving his head clear. That is, as clear as it could be after drinking so many of the draughts that Gandalf and the Warden had pressed on him. But he could think again, and he relished that.

He needed a bath--a proper bath in a proper bathtub, not the sponge baths given him by Sam that left him feeling sticky and restless. Stretching against the soft pillows that swallowed him in their depths, he ran his fingers through curls matted by fever and days of tossing and turning. He sat up, smiling when the room did not spin and whirl around him.

"Ow!" His smile reminded him that his lips were parched and cracked. He drank a little water, trying not to gulp it down, but, oh, he was so thirsty. He was so thirsty and dry that he was a little amazed when the water slipped easily down his throat and didn't just sink into his lips like arid soil soaking up sparse raindrops.

Leaning back against the pillows again, Frodo fidgeted with his nightshirt and bedcovers. He wanted to get up, but Gandalf had warned him that he must stay in bed today and not rush his recovery by being impatient. The house was quiet--the only sound the occasional snick of a door opening or closing as the house servants went about their tasks.

He wondered where the other hobbits were and what they were doing. During the past few days, they had come to his bedside at night and talked to him softly, telling him of what was happening in the City. He couldn't remember much of what they said and had only caught snatches of their conversation--Aragorn on his throne in the Tower of Ecthelion, more banquets. The details all merged into a jumbled account that didn't make much sense to him. Sam had tried to stay at his bedside, but Frodo had insisted he go, not wanting to keep his friend shut up with him when there was so much to see.

Why hadn't Faramir come to see him? He had told Frodo he would come the next day, but he hadn't. "Not that I would have been much company if he had come," Frodo thought disconsolately, but he longed to see the tall Steward again. Those few minutes they had talked in the courtyard had just whetted his appetite to know more of Faramir now there was time.

Frodo closed his eyes and stroked his cheek, Faramir's lips a warm whisper on his skin. When Faramir had kissed his cheek, Frodo had wanted to turn his face to make it a real kiss, but he had not dared. How foolish he was, dreaming that the grave young man would even want to do such a thing. That there was a bond between them Frodo had no doubt. He had felt it in Ithilien when he had pushed past his fear--they looked so alike at first, the two sons of Denethor--and allowed trust to appear. That trust and the ease he felt in Faramir's presence had reappeared so naturally when they had talked the other night. He knew that Faramir felt it too.

"Don't go getting yourself worked up about something that can't happen. It was a kiss on the cheek, nothing more than one friend gives to another," he chastised himself. "Don't forget he is betrothed to Eowyn. You saw how he looked at her. Even if he was free, what would he want with an injured hobbit? Be sensible."

Frodo shook his head and smiled ruefully at his imaginings. He would be sensible--would see Faramir again and enjoy the friendship that was offered, but not ask for more.

The front door slammed. Frodo sat up and smiled broadly as he listened to feet pounding up the stairs to his room. After a quick knock, Sam, Merry, and Pippin peeked their heads around the door.

"I'm awake--just waiting for you to come back," Frodo said eagerly.

They piled noisily onto Frodo's bed, jostling each other as they settled comfortably on its broad mattress.

"Well, cousin, you are a slug-a-bed, aren't you?" Merry teased. Frodo smiled contentedly, glad to have their company drive out his useless musings.

"What, and disobey Gandalf?" he retorted tartly.

"What's the matter? Do you think he'd turn you into something unnatural if you got out of bed without his approval?" Pippin snickered.

"Never you mind them," said Sam, taking Frodo's hand and stroking it gently.

"Right you are, Sam," said Merry. "We're just glad to see you looking better. You are feeling better, aren't you?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, yes, much. Gandalf said I can get out of bed tomorrow and sit in the garden for a while. But enough about me. Tell me where you've been and what you've been doing. I want to know everything."

Three voices competed as Sam, Merry, and Pippin started to tell Frodo what he had been missing.

"Whoa!" Frodo held up his hand and laughed. "One at a time. You'll make my head spin again if you go on all at once like that. Tell me about Aragorn on his throne. Does he wear his crown?"

His three friends looked sheepishly at each other for a minute. Finally, Sam burst out, "Oh, you should see him sitting high up on his throne in his fine robes and his crown. He looks like … well … like …"

"He looks like the King," Merry finished. "And everyone looks up to him and praises him. You should see Gandalf watching him. Sometimes I think he'll burst, he looks so proud of Aragorn."

Frodo smiled with satisfaction. Nodding at Sam, he asked, "Not like when we met him in Bree and you didn't like the look of him, eh?"

Sam chuckled. "Too right, Mr. Frodo."

The late afternoon sunlight shone brightly in the little room as Frodo's friends took it in turns to tell him of what they had done that day.

"Oh, I'd almost forgotten," said Merry. "Faramir said to tell you he'll come see you tomorrow."

Frodo's eyes widened, and his heart beat a little faster. "Where did you see him?"

"In that little courtyard where the dead tree is," answered Pippin. "We were sitting there wondering about the tree when he came by and sat with us for a while. He asked about you."

"Did he? What did he say?" demanded Frodo, sitting bolt upright against the pillows.

"Well, that's certainly got your attention, cousin," said Merry. "He wanted to know how you were. He didn't know about … about your shoulder and neck. We told him. It upset him--said he'd wished he'd known about them before. He worries about you, you know."

Frodo blinked and complained softly to himself, "But he didn't come see me before, though he said he would."

"Yes, he did," corrected Sam. "Came the day after the coronation … right after you took sick. The servant didn't let him see you … said you were resting and all."

"Oh."

Pippin said softly, "Don't worry. We just told the servants to let him in when he comes again. He'll come tomorrow, though he did look terribly tired when he left us … sad, too."

"Ah, he's probably just missing Eowyn. She left this afternoon with Eomer to go back to Edoras," said Sam.

Merry nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that's probably it … though it's not long since he was wounded too. He probably still gets tired easily."

"Wounded? Where … how?" Frodo's voice rose sharply in dismay.

Merry responded quietly. "His chest was pierced by a Nazgul dart before the siege. Aragorn saved his life, though it was a close thing to drive out the poison. He's recovered, but I expect he still tires easily … as well you know from your own injuries."

"Yes, I do." Frodo lay back down on the bed, holding his aching shoulder.

"Oh, this is bad. We've tired you out with our chatter."

"It's all right, Sam. I want to hear everything. But, I think I will sleep a little now. I am tired, but I'm glad you're here."

Frodo felt himself slipping away with a soft buzzing in his ears that muffled the words of his friends as they consulted in worried tones with each other. He barely heard the door open and the whisper of Gandalf's robes against the floor.

"Drink this. It will help. The rest of you--out. Frodo needs his rest." Gandalf slipped his arm under Frodo's shoulder to prop him up while he held a cup to his lips.

The bitter draught slipped down Frodo's throat. He turned his head and followed his friends with his eyes as they tiptoed out of the room. Smiling at them, he said, "See you later."

"Sleep now. You want to be able to go outside tomorrow, don't you?" asked the wizard, his eyes glinting at Frodo.

"Yes," Frodo breathed. Gandalf drew the bedcovers up around his shoulders and plumped his pillows before leaving him to his rest. His eyelids grew heavy. Snuggling deeper into the pillows, he let the draught spin him down into his sleep. Just before it caught him, he slid his hand into his nightshirt, sighing as his fingers sought the wound that throbbed in his chest. No, it was his shoulder that was wounded, not his chest. Why did his chest ache like that? He moaned lightly and slept.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Faramir woke with a strangled cry, sweat trickling down his face. He lay still listening to his harsh breathing that echoed like sobs torn from his unwilling chest. When would they stop? He thought they had stopped--hadn't had one for over a week. Tonight, the nightmare had trapped him again in the Field of Pellenor. In his dream, it was as though time had slowed to almost a standstill while the Nazgul dart flew at him. He had felt again the sharpness as it bit into his chest. The poison had spread slowly through his body and pressed down so tightly that he could not breathe. The panic of being suffocated had woken him.

He sat up against his pillows after his breathing slowed to something like normal. Would he ever truly feel normal again? The Warden had told him many times that he would--to trust that the bad dreams would fade until he no longer even remembered them. Faramir tried to believe that, but waking again with the pain sharp in his chest made him doubt it.

Shivering a little from the cool night air, Faramir snuggled back into his covers and tried to sleep again, but he was wide awake. He thought of Eowyn and Ithilien and how happy they would be there, but something else kept tugging at his mind. No, not something, it was someone who had crept into his heart so many weeks before at Henneth Annun. Talking with Frodo again the other night had been so sweet. When he had brushed his lips against Frodo's cheek, it had been all he could do not to pull the frail hobbit into his arms and hold him tight, bruise his mouth with hungry kisses.

Faramir laughed shortly. "Yes, that would have been a fine thing to do to keep his trust." He sighed at his foolishness. Frodo had trusted him in Ithilien, and that was a cherished gift. Eowyn trusted and loved him enough to bind herself to him, and he would not betray her faith. He loved her--looked with joy on the life they would have together. She was all he needed. And yet …

So many wounds. How could one be so wounded and yet live and smile as Frodo did? Hearing about Frodo's shoulder and neck had filled Faramir with fear though he tried not to show it to the hobbits. He had had to struggle with himself not to run straight to Gandalf's house and see with his own eyes that Frodo was recovering.

"Patience. Even if you had gone there, what could you do? Are you a healer? Perhaps I should not even go tomorrow. He needs his rest, not a visit from someone whose wits are addled with an infatuation that can't be satisfied."

Faramir nodded. Yes, it would be better for him to wait until Frodo was able to leave his house and go about the City again. He would restrain his impatience. It would be better so.

* * *

Chapter 4

"Oh … stop … I can't …"

Frodo's sides hurt he laughed so hard at Pippin's description of how Sam had mistaken a Guard for a statue.

"It's true … all true. He went up to him and actually started … oh … he started running his hands over his sword!" choked Pippin, tears running down his face.

"I never did no such thing," complained a red-faced Sam.

"Well, you were going to. I saw you reach out your hand. What stopped you?" asked Merry.

"I … well … I saw him breathe. I swear it was the first he'd breathed in minutes." Sam's lips quivered. When he caught Frodo's eyes and saw the merriment in their bright blue depths, he burst into delighted laughter.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said and shook his head. "Oh, Sam."

"What have I been missing, dear friends?"

They all looked up and saw Aragorn walking toward them as they sat in the garden behind Gandalf's house.

"Aragorn! Oh, good. Now we're all here," exclaimed Frodo. He looked around with utter contentment at the Fellowship gathered around him on the lawn.

Gandalf had let him get dressed and come into the garden--after a bath, a blessed hot bath that had sluiced away all the previous days' stickiness and most of his weariness. Of course, Sam had made sure Frodo was well bundled up from any stray breeze that might try to sneak its way under his clothing. Truth to tell, Frodo was a little too warm in his chair under the tree, but whenever he tried to push away the fluffy white blanket tucked around him, a quick word from Sam made him think twice about it.

Frodo looked up at the leafy canopy that shielded him from the hottest rays of the afternoon sun. "Thank you," he mouthed happily to the friendly tree that had entertained him with its living shadows during the long, tiresome days he had been stuck in bed.

Legolas was leaning against the tree's trunk, running his hands carefully over its smooth bark and watching Gimli polish the blade of his axe.

"Are you sure you are not planning to make use of your axe? I think Frodo might have a few choice words to say to you if you do."

"Hmph."

Frodo's eyes danced from elf to dwarf. How he had missed their teasing. He lifted his eyes across the garden to where Sam knelt by a flower bed industriously pulling the weeds that had choked it during the long weeks when no one had the time or heart to attend to it. Sam had developed a careful rhythm that afternoon: pull a handful or two of weeds, check to make sure Frodo hadn't escaped from his blanket, run his hands through the rich soil, and on and on.

Merry and Pippin lounged on the grass with Gandalf between them to keep them in order. At least, that was what Gandalf said, though Merry alleged it was the closeness of the seed cake that kept him so near to them.

Aragorn sat down next to Frodo and smiled at the recovering hobbit. "You look splendid."

Frodo flushed, though his cheeks had already reddened from the warm sun and the laughter that had erupted from his belly all afternoon. "Thank you. I feel much better today, quite like my old self. So stupid of me to get that tired the other day."

"Not at all. We must take better care of you. I'm only sorry I wasn't able to come see you before now."

"That's all right. I know how busy you are. It's kind of you to take the time today."

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow at him. "My, you're polite. And it's not kindness. I have missed my friends--you especially."

Frodo beamed at Aragorn. "Tell me about your day."

"Ah, very tedious. Too many meetings and talk, though I expect I shall have to get used to it."

"Who was at your meetings?" Frodo played with an unraveling edge of blanket, his fingers plucking at a long thread.

"Lots of folk you have not met--those who have the City in their care--merchants, artisans, and the like."

"Was … was Faramir there?" asked Frodo in a low voice, looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"Yes, of course. He has a large part to play in the City's restoration, though he will be leaving soon for Ithilien. I asked him to come with me to see you, but he had other matters to attend to. That reminds me. He sent his greetings to you--told me to say that he looks forward to seeing you once you're able to be out and about again in the City."

"Oh."

"Ah, excuse me for a minute. I must speak with Gimli--there is much stonework that I need to discuss with him. Frodo?"

"Yes, of course. Don't let me keep you." Frodo leaned back into his chair and pulled the blanket up around his neck, suddenly chilled though the afternoon sun still shone hotly. Watching Aragorn speaking animatedly with Gimli, weariness crept back into his bones. He shut his eyes against the sun that now seemed painfully bright.

"I think it's time we let our invalid get some rest. Come inside now, Frodo," said Gandalf, walking to Frodo's chair and beckoning to the hobbit with his hand.

"I don't want to. It's nice out here--you said I could sit out here as long as I wanted."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "If I recall correctly, I said you could sit outside for a while. Come along now, you need some quiet--especially if you want to come outside again tomorrow."

"No." Frodo's eyebrows drew together mutinously as he scowled at the ground, unwilling to meet Gandalf's questioning eyes.

Gandalf threw up his hands. "Just like Bilbo," he sighed. "Please don't make me ask Aragorn to carry you into the house. That would be most undignified for you both."

"Just like the big folk to be bullying the small," growled Gimli as he strode up to Frodo. "It's a good thing I brought my axe with me. Shall I fell him for you, Master Baggins?"

Frodo smiled gratefully at the stocky dwarf, who winked at him conspiratorially. "Not this time, though I appreciate the offer." He stood up slowly, unwinding himself from his white cocoon. "I'm sorry, Gandalf--guess I am a little tired. I'm ready to go upstairs."

The Fellowship gathered around Frodo, soft voices bidding him goodbye for now. He watched Aragorn go off with Gimli and Legolas, no doubt to continue their discussions of the stonework that Minas Tirith so sorely needed. As he walked to the house with Gandalf, he saw Merry and Pippin dragging Sam away.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go find some more statues," teased Pippin.

Sam laughed. Turning around, he caught Frodo's eye. "I won't be long, Mr. Frodo--be back soon to keep you company."

"All right. I'll be here," Frodo said wistfully, watching the three hobbits tear through the garden gate into the street.

"Frodo?"

"Coming."

* * *

Sometimes, Frodo thought the bed was too soft, but now it seemed all hard lumps under his restless shifting. He was alone in his little bedchamber, Gandalf suddenly having remembered a "very important" discussion he needed to have with the Warden of the Houses of Healing. "Hmph," thought Frodo. "Probably wants to concoct another evil brew to keep me stuck here in bed."

Flopping onto his back, he interrogated the ceiling. "What's wrong with me?" But the ceiling made no answer, its friendly shadows absent for once. Looking over at the window, he saw that the curtains were drawn, but he felt too listless to get up and open them.

He knew what was wrong. The day had been so bright and full of laughter until Aragorn had given him Faramir's greeting. Faramir had lied when he told his friends that he would come today. No, he hadn't lied--Faramir was too honorable to lie--he had just been being courteous. Frodo looked down at his maimed hand, the ugly stump throbbing in time with his heart beats.

Perhaps he had been wrong to think there was a bond between them. How could there be when they barely knew each other? It was all in his own mind, something his desire had dreamed up out of thin air. He had been foolish to even assume friendship--had transformed politeness and kindness into something more.

Frodo yawned, finally finding a tolerable position on his sack of stones. He would have a little nap and be awake when Sam came back to sit with him.

* * *

The edge of the mattress sank down. "Oh, good, he's back," Frodo thought groggily. "Did you find more living statues?" he murmured.

"Is that another hobbit pastime I know nothing of?" a low voice inquired.

Frodo's eyes flew open and looked on Faramir sitting close to him on the edge of the bed. Someone had drawn open the curtains while he slept; the fading light of the day fell about them in an amber glow.

The young man was clad simply in a forest green tunic and leggings. To Frodo's hungry eyes, Faramir had never looked so handsome, not even in the finery he had worn at Aragorn's crowning. The dark blonde hair falling about his shoulders looked so soft that Frodo had to clench his hands not to reach out and bury his fingers in their shining waves.

"I … Sam … you had to be there," Frodo stammered.

Faramir chuckled, which accentuated the little laugh lines about his gray eyes. "I have heard all about Master Samwise and his … er … mishap. The Guard was much amused, though it might embarrass Sam to hear that."

"Then I will have to tell him, won't I?"

"I leave that to you to decide. Having felt the rough side of Sam's tongue before, I'm in no hurry to be on the receiving end again any time soon."

"Oh, he did give you a tongue-lashing that time in Ithilien, didn't he?"

"Yes, but well-deserved. I was much too harsh with you."

"Really? I only remember you being very kind to both of us."

Faramir shook his head but said nothing--just reached his hand to Frodo's cheek and stroked it lightly. It may have been nothing but a careless gesture, but Frodo felt it warm him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He squirmed on the bed, frantic to say something before he disgraced himself by flinging himself on Faramir.

Finally, he blurted, "Sam will be back in a few minutes. We'll see what he says about the Guard." Oh, he was a fool.

"No, I'm afraid not. He's staying to eat with Aragorn and the others. I volunteered to come tell you that he'll not be back until later tonight. You'll be stuck with me until then."

Frodo said softly, "I don't mind, but you don't need to stay if you have other things to do. You'll want your dinner, too, I expect--and more lively company. I haven't been very good company the last few days." He looked up at the ceiling. "Even the shadows have gone away."

Starting forward, Faramir asked sharply, "Shadows? What shadows?"

"Not those shadows … well, yes, those kind are gone, too."

"Then what do you mean? I've not much experience at reading hobbits' minds."

"There is a tree in the garden out back, a nice tree, quite tall and leafy. The sun casts shadows of it on the ceiling during the day when the curtains are open. I slept a lot these past few days, but I was awake, too, for many hours while the others were out and about. The shadows kept me company--I'd watch them move across the ceiling. It was nice to sit under the real tree this afternoon."

Frodo smiled pensively at Faramir. He could not read the look in his gray eyes, but when the young man reached out, Frodo instinctively slipped his right hand beneath the covers. Faramir sighed and carefully drew them back. Taking Frodo's maimed hand between his two whole ones, he gently stroked the hobbit's injured finger with his thumb.

He whispered, "Forgive me. How lonely you must have been these past days. And how stupid I have been. I thought not to come today even though I told Sam and the others to tell you I would--thought it would be better to wait until you were able to leave the house. What must you have thought?"

"I didn't know what to think. It's all right. You've no obligation to come see me, though I'm glad you have."

"Well, all I can say is that I've been a poor friend to you, but I'll do better from now on. I promise."

Frodo positively glowed when he heard Faramir call him "friend." Going a little limp with relief, he curled his fingers around Faramir's hand, all his earlier restlessness and self-pity washing away in the simple clasp of two hands. He felt so safe when he was with Faramir; even in Ithilien he had felt safe and protected though his mind had told him otherwise. Faramir's hand was warm and dry and steady. Frodo decided to do nothing that might make him take his hand away.

"I will come see you every day. Perhaps I can think of something we might do that will amuse you. Would you like that?"

Would he! Frodo forced himself to speak calmly. "Yes, please come when you can. Don't bother about entertaining me. Just talking with you is enough diversion for me."

"No, I think not. But, I'll not say more now. You must like a surprise every now and then?"

"Oh, yes … that is, nice ones."

"Then I shall be careful to make it a very nice one, something to take your mind off your troubles. At least, I hope you'll think it fun."

"I know I will. Oh, it's getting dark. It must be later than I thought."

"Is that my cue to leave?"

"No! Please stay."

"All right, until Sam comes back and throws me out for the night."

Faramir released Frodo's hand and stood up. He stretched, his shoulder blades pulling tight against the soft fabric of his tunic. While he moved about the room, lighting a few lamps, Frodo kicked himself for drawing attention to the encroaching darkness since it had caused Faramir to let go of his hand. But when Faramir sat next to Frodo again, he took the hobbit's small hand in his as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Frodo melted inside--thought he would melt into a little puddle and leave nothing for Sam to find.

They sat quietly talking of nothing in particular, bursting into laughter when both their mouths gaped wide in yawns.

Faramir said, "Well, we are a pair--not even eight o'clock and both yawning like a couple of grandfathers."

Looking into Faramir's eyes, Frodo noticed for the first time a weariness in their steady gaze--weariness and perhaps a hint of pain. He felt a pang that, in his excitement at being with him again, he had forgotten Faramir had been sorely wounded himself not long ago. He wanted to ask him about it couldn't find the words as he watched the young man run his hand across his forehead and move his head from side to side, perhaps easing a tired neck.

Frodo said softly, "I think it's time for you …"

The door opened, and Gandalf swept in. When Faramir moved to get up, the wizard stopped him with a wave of the hand.

"Don't disturb yourself. How good of you to come visit Frodo. I know he's been longing to see you."

Frodo glared at Gandalf, his face reddening though the wizard had done nothing but speak the truth. How Gandalf had irritated him today with his bossiness--and now, with breaking in on his visit.

Faramir said, "Yes, Frodo and I have had a good visit. I have told him I will come back every day."

"Excellent! He could use a little fun. I'm afraid I've not been much fun to him lately, what with ordering him around and making him swallow vile concoctions."

"Gandalf!"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Well … er … yes. Not that I don't appreciate what you've done for me," Frodo mumbled grudgingly.

"Nonsense. Don't go on about appreciation until after you've seen what I've brought you." He held up an earthen flask and shook it.

Frodo groaned. "Oh, no … please … not more of that stuff. The taste … oh, it tastes like old shoes and dirt and something rotting all at once."

Gandalf laughed. "This is a new draught I've had made up for you just this evening. The Warden--you know him quite well, I think, Faramir--he and I put our heads together, and I think the result is rather nice. Not as strong as the other one … more of a tonic I would say though it will make you sleepy, Frodo."

"Please … no more."

"Surely Mithrandir knows what he's doing," Faramir chided.

"Oh … all right, if you insist."

Gandalf chuckled as he poured a little of the syrupy contents of the flask into a cup. "We do … both of us. Here you go."

Frodo sniffed the contents of the cup suspiciously. "Well, it doesn't smell as bad as the other poison." Holding his breath, he gulped it down. "Oh, Gandalf. How could you? It tastes even worse … like … I don't know even know how to begin to describe it."

He held the cup out to Faramir, who dipped his finger into it. Touching his finger gingerly to his tongue, he grimaced. "Mithrandir, I must agree. Surely you could sweeten the taste."

Frodo grinned. "You see?"

"Yes, yes … I will think on it … perhaps the Warden and I can make some adjustments to improve its flavor."

Frodo lay back against the pillows, the tide of sleep already tugging lightly at him.

Leaning forward, Faramir brushed his lips against Frodo's cheek. "Time for me to go now and let you get some sleep."

"All right," Frodo breathed. "You will come tomorrow?"

"Yes, just as I promised."

"A minute, Faramir." Gandalf put his hand to Faramir's chin, tilting it to better look into his eyes. "You look tired--like you've been overdoing things. The Warden warned me you might. I believe this draught might do you some good."

"I wouldn't dream of taking it away from Frodo. He needs it much more than I do," Faramir spluttered.

Frodo giggled and said sweetly, "But surely Mithrandir knows what he's doing."

It was Faramir's turn to glare, but Frodo just looked back at him with a wide grin that turned quickly into a cavernous yawn.

Gandalf said with a satisfied tone, "I shall ask the Warden to make up a flask for you tomorrow. And now, good night. I will see you to the door. Say good night, Frodo."

"'Night."

Faramir shook his head. "Trapped by my own words. Very well. Good night, Frodo." Stroking Frodo's cheek once more, he stood up but fell heavily back on to the bed, his head dropping down into his hands.

"Oh … I … so dizzy."

* * *

Chapter 5

The room spun wildly around him. Faramir sat with his head hanging low, his long hair brushing his face and neck. He gripped the side of the mattress tightly as he fought back a wave of nausea.

"Put your head between your knees. It will pass more quickly that way," said Gandalf in his ear, pressing his hand hard against the back of Faramir's neck. After a minute, Faramir sat up slowly and leaned back against the bed on his elbows, one hand rubbing his chest.

"So stupid of me … haven't eaten since morning."

"If you're just hungry, why are you holding your chest like that?" asked Gandalf.

He hated to admit it, but the irritating wizard was right. It was more than mere hunger that had made him almost pass out. Faramir turned his head gingerly and squinted at Frodo. "I'm sorry. It seems you're not the only one overdoing things."

Frodo was sitting bolt upright against the pillows, his eyes like blue saucers. "Gandalf, do something for him," he whispered. "He's gone so pale."

"I'm trying to. Faramir, you will stay here tonight."

"Oh, no, I'm already feeling much better."

"Perhaps. Well, I'll give you some choices. I can have the servants carry you home or to the Houses of Healing. Or, if you don't care for the idea of being carried about like a sack of potatoes, you can stay here. I have a spare room you can use … or you can share Frodo's bed … that is, if he doesn't object."

Gandalf glanced at the hobbit sitting so still on the bed. Frodo blushed and nodded violently, his eyes widening even more.

"Yes, that would be best. That way I can keep my eye on both of you more easily. Well?"

"All right. Yes, I will stay with Frodo's permission." Faramir smiled wryly. "Not that I'm sure your threat was very serious."

Gandalf stuck out his chin. "Hmph. Well, that's settled. Here, I want you to take some of this draught."

"Surely that's not necessary," sighed Faramir with little hope of escape. Was there any illness the wizard did not try to heal without some foul-tasting medicine?

"I'll decide what's needed." Gandalf poured a large dose of the syrup into the cup and held it to Faramir's mouth.

"That's too much … much more than you gave Frodo," Faramir protested weakly.

"Yes, yes … the proper dose for your size. Drink it."

"Hold your breath," Frodo offered helpfully. "It goes down easier that way."

Faramir held his nose while he gulped it down, grimacing at the bitterness coating his mouth. Shuddering as the heavy syrup dripped slowly down his throat, he complained, "Mithrandir, you really must do something about this taste … like … oh … I don't know what … indescribable, as Frodo said."

Gandalf chuckled and walked toward the door. "I will get you a nightshirt … don't think one of Frodo's would fit you very well. Also, I think you should both eat a little before you sleep. Frodo, can you stay awake long enough to have a little soup?"

"Yes. This poison isn't as strong as the other, though it tastes worse. If I lie down and close my eyes, I know I'll go to sleep right away, but I don't feel it so much when I'm sitting up."

"Very good. I will be back in a few minutes. Faramir, get undressed."

After Gandalf had shut the door and the sound of his footsteps had trailed away, Faramir lay back limply against the mattress and shut his eyes. What a fool he had been to come here. When he had woken that morning after his disturbed night's sleep, the ache in his chest and head had told him to go easily, but he had ignored its warning. Now here he was sprawled on the bed like a weak thing.

He felt Frodo slip off the bed but was too tired to move. Truly, they were a fine pair of invalids. He started a little when he felt Frodo tug at his boots, gratefully wiggling his toes against the cool night air when the boots dropped on the floor with a thud.

"Thank you."

Frodo said nothing as he climbed back on the bed and knelt at Faramir's side. Opening his eyes, Faramir watched Frodo carefully undo the belt slung low around his hips, raising his arms to help Frodo pull off his tunic. That much accomplished, Frodo sat back on his knees and gazed at Faramir's chest. Slowly, he reached out his hand and gently touched the small puckered scar.

"Does it hurt much?" he asked hesitantly

"A little … aches a bit," said Faramir, smiling up at Frodo, wanting to say something that would make the strained look disappear from the hobbit's blue eyes. Frodo nodded, a wrinkle of concentration contracting his brows, and drew his hand away. With the hem of his nightshirt, he wiped away the beads of sweat on Faramir's brow.

Gandalf bustled back into the room carrying a nightshirt. "Your food will be here in a minute. Put this on."

Faramir sat up and slipped the proffered nightshirt over his head, its cool linen soft against his bare skin. Running his hands under it, he unfastened his leggings and slid them off. Frodo drew a quick breath at the glimpse of narrows flanks as Faramir pulled the nightshirt over his legs.

"Into bed now--both of you," Gandalf ordered softly. He helped adjust the covers over the invalids as they settled. They sat stiffly against the pillows and stared straight ahead, not touching. Each one darted little glances at the other in turns. When their eyes finally met, they smiled at first and then dissolved into laughter.

Faramir gasped, "We are a pair, aren't we? Mithrandir, I think you have an annex of the Houses of Healing here. What would the Warden say if he knew you were stealing away his business?"

"He would commend me for my treatment of such headstrong patients--as I'm sure he will when I speak with him tomorrow."

The door opened, followed by a house servant carrying trays of steaming bowls of soup. Faramir's stomach growled loudly at the inviting smell. He had thought he wasn't hungry when Gandalf had mentioned a meal, but now he felt ravenous as Gandalf placed the tray on his lap. The first swallow of the fragrant soup was warm and full of fresh vegetables--potatoes, onions, carrots, and mushrooms suspended in a rich chicken broth. Stirring his spoon around the bowl, he thought idly, "So many mushrooms. How odd."

Gandalf chuckled. "I hope you don't mind the mushrooms. It is a sort of hobbity soup, you know."

"Ah, that explains it. I learn something new about hobbits every day."

Faramir looked fondly at Frodo, who was quietly inhaling his soup, a small smile curving his lips. Turning back to his own bowl, he quickly finished eating, the only sound in the room the clinking of spoons against the crockery. Bowls emptied, they leaned back against their pillows with sighs of contentment.

Gathering up their trays, Gandalf placed them on a table for the servant to remove later. "Sleep now." He moved about the room, snuffing out all the lights except for one small lamp next to an easy chair by the window. "I am here if you need me." He sank with a satisfied groan into the chair and drew out his pipe, settling in for a relaxing smoke.

Faramir and Frodo snuggled into the covers, facing each other but not touching. "Kick me if I snore too loudly," said Faramir.

Frodo's giggle quickly turned into a wide yawn as he closed his eyes. "I will. 'Night."

"Sleep well." Faramir watched his bedmate fall quickly asleep, Frodo's quiet breathing even and calm. He struggled a little to keep his eyes open--wanted to watch the hobbit's peaceful face a while longer. The ache in his chest receded as the draught worked on him until he felt like he was floating on a warm cloud, all alone with Frodo. His mind drifted, a quick pang of guilt striking him when he thought of Eowyn riding away blissfully unaware of his wayward heart. "I have done nothing," he tried to persuade himself. "But you think it all the time … can't keep your mind off him when you should be thinking of her." He sighed and finally allowed sleep to pull him close.

His eyes snapped open at a soft moan. Frodo was twisting restlessly next to him, his mouth whimpering in wordless distress and his hands fluttering about his neck.

"A nightmare. He has them often." Faramir turned toward Gandalf's quiet voice and saw the wizard sitting forward in his chair, his pipe resting in his palm. Gandalf gestured toward Frodo with his hand. "Comfort him … perhaps you can. All I can do is pour more vile-tasting brews down his throat."

Faramir watched Gandalf a little longer, the sadness of the wizard's voice reflected in his dark eyes. Turning back to Frodo, he leaned close to him and smoothed damp curls from the hobbit's flushed cheeks.

"Nooo … you can't have it … I promised I wouldn't … no, Boromir … don't …" Frodo's voice rose to a desperate wail; it pierced Faramir's heart as sorely as the Nazgul dart had his chest.

Faramir hung suspended over Frodo for a moment, uncertainty and shame warring with his longing to comfort. "But I'm not my brother," he thought, "I'm not like him."

He whispered, "It's me, Faramir. I'm here." He gripped Frodo's hands and held them tight, holding his breath while Frodo struggled briefly against his clasp. "I'm here. Hold on to me. I won't let you go." Frodo stopped fighting and quieted with a sigh, his fingers curling around Faramir's hands though he did not wake.

Faramir rolled on his back and pulled Frodo gently to him, barely daring to breathe. Frodo pressed close to Faramir's chest, burying his face against his throat and flinging a leg around the man's waist. With a quick breath of relief, Faramir tightened his arms around Frodo, stroking his back and resting his cheek on the hobbit's curls. Frodo's body curved so perfectly around his. It seemed to Faramir that their bodies had been made just to fit together like this. He would not move--not as long as he could feel Frodo wrapped around him, his breath warm against his neck.

Finally closing his eyes and allowing sleep to overtake him, Faramir felt a small hand steal under his nightshirt. Frodo's hand moved lazily at first, his fingers brushing the fine hair on Faramir's chest. The last thing Faramir felt was Frodo's fingers settling on his scar and resting there lightly. The ache slowly disappeared under the warm hand covering him so protectively.

* * *

Gandalf startled awake when the book slipped onto the floor with a soft thump. Leaning down, he picked it up and settled it back on his lap, smoothing its worn pages.

The sleeping figures in the bed were quiet at last, restlessness and bad dreams banished from their entangled limbs. Gandalf had watched them struggle for long minutes as the night deepened. When one moaned from some shadow of pain and memory, the other reached out to still flailing arms, murmuring incoherent words of comfort. Neither of them ever woke fully while they twisted and turned in a movement that looked almost like a dance to Gandalf's eyes.

Of the difficulty of Frodo's recovery, the wizard was never in doubt. He hoped for it, yet uncertainty always rested under the surface though he tried hard not to let Frodo sense it. But he had never before had any doubts of Faramir's full recuperation. While the Warden had warned him that Faramir's recovery would take longer than the returning strength of his body would seem necessary, Gandalf had not thought seriously of it until he had seen the fatigue in the young man's face as he sat on Frodo's bed that evening.

Perhaps they could comfort each other more fully where others could not. There was a bond of sympathy and understanding between them. Gandalf had seen the beginnings of it in Faramir's eyes when he had returned from Ithilien and spoken of meeting Frodo and Sam.

It had not surprised Gandalf that Faramir had acted as he had done, though it had angered Denethor. The Steward had spoken harshly to his son, berating him for his decision to let Frodo and Sam continue their journey. Gandalf had seen Denethor's cold dismissal sink bitterly into Faramir's heart. He had tried to speak words of hope to Faramir before he left Minas Tirith that last time, yet they had fallen on deaf ears. Well, Denethor had paid for his coldness and pride with his life. Thanks to Beregond and Pippin, the price had not included Faramir's life as well.

Gandalf stood up and looked out the window into the darkened garden, smiling at the memories of the afternoon--Sam and his statue, Merry and Pippin's teasing, even Frodo's fit of indignation at being ordered back to bed. He felt a little regret at having bossed Frodo so imperiously once he had seen the same irritation when he had interrupted his visit with Faramir.

Yes, perhaps they could comfort each other, but it seemed to Gandalf now that there was something more than a bond of understanding between them. Brief though their acquaintance was measured in time, the intensity worried him, especially for Frodo's sake. Frodo was bravely trying to overcome his injuries and memories; Gandalf felt pride and love fill him every time he looked at his dear friend. He wanted to shield Frodo from further pain and feared that his quick attachment to Faramir would hurt him in the end. Everything in him drove him to protect Frodo, yet what right had he to interfere? He might be wrong, too, about Frodo's feelings. Perhaps he was jumping to a wrong conclusion.

What of Faramir? He had seen the happiness in Faramir's eyes when Eowyn had come into his life and helped heal him--seen both of them renewed by the promise of a life together. Yet Gandalf had also seen the look in Faramir's eyes when he sat by Frodo's bed and held his hand so tenderly. Even more, he had watched them as they tossed and turned restlessly, comforting each other in turn even as they slept on--drawing ever closer together, never pushing away.

"Your time is over; you have accomplished what you were sent to do," Gandalf chastised himself, walking to the bed and gazing down at the sleeping pair with worried eyes. "They have done well, both of them. Let go, and leave them to find their way. It is their right."

Gandalf stood irresolutely, shifting his gaze between the quiet bed, the door, and the chair. Even as he stood, Faramir and Frodo shifted in their sleep. When they settled again, he could barely see Frodo, so surrounded was he by Faramir. They lay spooned together--Frodo's head tucked snugly under Faramir's chin, Faramir's arm wrapped possessively around Frodo's waist. All Gandalf could see of the hobbit was his smiling face and his hand curved around Faramir's arm.

"Not yet," Gandalf persuaded himself. "After all, they might still wake in pain and need me." Shaking his head--was that the best he could do!--he walked back to his chair and settled in once more, picking up his pipe for another smoke.


	2. Chapters 6-10

Chapter 6

Frodo thought he might want to move--just a little--maybe scoot back a bit to find the warm chest he had slept against all night. Light filtering through his eyelids told him it was morning--that and the voices drifting through the open window.

"Sam, you've had enough scones. You won't be able to stand up if you have any more."

"No more than you two."

"Ah, but Pippin and I are growing hobbits … in case you haven't noticed."

"That I have … still can't make heads or tails of it. Anyway, I'm still making up for lost time to my way of thinking. Not that the lembas Frodo and I had to eat wasn't nourishing and all …"

The three voices trailed away as the hobbits apparently managed to get to their feet and wander off into the house--most likely in search of another batch of scones fresh from the oven.

A quiet chuckle told Frodo that he was not alone in the room. Faramir must have gotten out of bed. A quick slide backwards against cool sheets confirmed that he was on his own in the bed that now seemed much too wide for one hobbit. He sat up and opened his eyes, stretching his arms wide with a groan of contentment. His smile wavered for a moment before he resolutely curved his mouth into a greeting. "Good morning, Gandalf."

"About time you woke up. That was quite a sleep you had, though I'm sure it did you good."

"What time is it?"

"About half past ten."

"Goodness! Um … where is Faramir?"

"He left a couple of hours ago … didn't want to wake you."

"Oh. Did he feel better?"

"He felt much refreshed … just as you do from the looks of you. That draught turned out to be very helpful in spite of its taste, wouldn't you say?"

Frodo nodded, not wanting to hurt Gandalf's feelings, though he had his own thoughts on the matter. The glint in Gandalf's eyes suggested that the wizard was reading those thoughts loud and clear, not that Frodo had any intention of admitting to them.

"Are you going to lie in bed all day? I thought you wanted to go outside again."

"Oh, I do. But I'd like a bath first."

"Very well. I will call for one."

Gandalf moved quickly across the room. Opening the door, he turned back to Frodo and hovered for a minute. "Frodo … you need to understand … Faramir …"

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Frodo's heart skipped a beat at the concerned look on Gandalf's face.

"No, no … nothing wrong." Gandalf shook his head and shrugged. "I had just forgotten to tell you what Faramir said before he left. He might not be able to come see you until late afternoon as there are things he must help Aragorn with today."

"That's all right. He will come, though, won't he?"

"Oh, yes, he'll be here," Gandalf murmured. "I'm sure of it."

* * *

Which was nicer--the scent of Faramir's throat or his arm? Frodo decided that lengthy study was needed. He rested the back of his head against the tub and smiled up at the ceiling. If he sat up, he could look out the window and spy on the three hobbits who had returned to their spot in the garden, not that he had any inclination to do so at the moment. As he luxuriated in the hot water lapping at his chin, idly watching steam rise from its surface, he heard Sam call out to Gandalf to come look at his handiwork in the flower bed.

"Good," he thought to himself. "That should keep him occupied for some time." While Frodo loved Gandalf dearly, he was getting more than a little frustrated at the wizard's constant hovering. He knew that Gandalf meant well, but how irritated he had been when the wizard had swept in the evening before and started ordering both him and Faramir about.

Frodo sat up and fished about for his washcloth and the bar of soap floating around somewhere in the tub. Oh, bother, he could wash later. Reliving last night was much more pressing. He really shouldn't be annoyed with Gandalf, considering it was the wizard's bossiness that had caused Faramir to end up spending the night in his bed, the two of them tucked up so cozily together.

Where was he before he'd been distracted by the voices in the garden? Ah, which part of Faramir smelled the nicest? Yes, a most difficult choice, though for now he would have to vote for Faramir's neck. It seemed to Frodo that he had spent hours drifting between waking and sleeping, just drinking in its fresh warmth. He wondered what kind of soap Faramir used; there had been a hint of something herbal or woodsy. Cedar! That was it. Water sloshed against the sides of the tub as Frodo hunted for his bar of soap. Holding it to his nose, he shook his head and flipped it back into the water. "No, this one smells sweeter, like honey," he thought, settling back again, waiting for the waves to subside. It wouldn't do to imitate a fountain like Pippin had done back in Crickhollow. He didn't think that would be appreciated by the house servants.

Yes, breathing in the scent of Faramir's neck had intoxicated him, but what about his arm? It wouldn't be right to decide until he considered his arm. Of course, it wasn't really a fair comparison considering that it had been covered by the sleeve of his nightshirt. When Frodo had lain spooned against Faramir's chest, he had rested his head on the man's arm with its lean muscles firmly pillowing his cheek. He giggled at his foolishness in thinking that the smell of someone's arm--so close to that certain someone's underarm--could be so pleasant. Yet it had been. Faramir's neck had smelled of warm, clean skin, but his arm held hints of something deeper and muskier. It had been all Frodo could do not to rub his nose back and forth against Faramir's arm, following the scent straight to its source.

Squirming a little, Frodo wondered if the hair under Faramir's arm was as silky as that on his chest. He raised his arm and inspected its downy growth, much sparser than he suspected he would find on Faramir. Sparse like that on his own chest--well, not really since his chest was completely bare and smooth. What a contrast there was between their bodies, and how giddy it made him to think of other comparisons that might be made.

The whole night now seemed a dream, albeit one that he remembered with crystal clear clarity. The lingering scent on the sheets alone told him that it hadn't been a dream. Perhaps after his bath, he would lie down again for a few minutes to see if he could find it again. He wrinkled his forehead as the faint memory of nightmare crossed his mind. No, he'd spend no time today in the grip of his shadows--would banish them with the scent and remembrance of fairer things.

He flushed at the memory of one particular moment in the middle of the night when he had waked briefly and flopped over on Faramir's chest. Throwing his leg over Faramir's waist, his nightshirt had slipped up to his back. As Faramir had adjusted to the sudden weight on him, he had clasped Frodo close to him, his fingers splayed against his bottom, stroking the cleft between his cheeks. How had Frodo fallen back to sleep so quickly with the feel of that warm hand cupping him? He arched his back and lightly ran his hands down his chest, lower, lower. What would it feel like to be pinned on his back with his thighs spread wide--Faramir on top of him, pulling his bottom tight as he …

"What? Not finished yet? The day's not getting any younger, you know!"

Frodo froze for a second and then dove under the water, quickly searching for his washcloth. Thankfully the water had gone cloudy with soap, else Gandalf might have seen …

"I'm almost done," Frodo gasped when he surfaced with the washcloth plastered to his belly. Drat the wizard. He hadn't heard the door opening or footsteps entering the room. "The water was so nice I couldn't resist just soaking for a bit."

Gandalf stood smiling down on the dripping hobbit bent over industriously soaping his feet, making up for lost time. "Yes, well, don't scrub so hard, or you might wash the hair right off your feet. After all, it's not like you were filthy when you got in."

"I know. It's just that it feels so good to have a proper bath again that I can't help it," Frodo gabbled. "I went so long without that I feel like I need to make up for lost time."

"Yes, lost time … or perhaps it's better to say make up for lost baths."

"Er … yes … that's it. I'll be out soon. Are the others waiting?"

"Yes, and most impatiently. It's almost time for lunch. Needless to say, you'd better hurry or you might find nothing but rinds and crusts at the table." Gandalf moved toward the door after issuing the threat that strikes fear in the hearts of all hobbits.

"I'm coming. Tell Sam to save me something good." Frodo slumped back against the tub and threw the washcloth over his face.

* * *

Frodo fidgeted on the grass under the tree, unable to concentrate on the conversation around him. For the hundredth time in the past couple of hours, he craned his neck to look past the garden gate. If he wasn't fussing at his jacket, he was sitting stiff as a poker listening for the sound of approaching footsteps and the gentle voice that he longed to hear. At least he wasn't too warm today. He looked up to see Sam approaching with the white blanket, but a quick glare stopped him in his tracks.

"I don't think Frodo needs the extra warmth today," advised Gandalf, motioning to Sam with a quick pass of his hand.

Sam looked doubtfully from the blanket to Frodo. "He does look perkier today."

"You can speak to me directly, you know," huffed Frodo. "It's not like I can't hear you."

"Oh, he is feeling better today if he's gone all cranky like that," said Pippin. Standing up, he clapped his hand to his chest and bowed low. "Excuse me, Mr. Baggins, you appear to be feeling better today, if I may speak to you directly."

Frodo stood up and bowed back. "You may, Mr. Took," he laughed. Turning to Sam, he took his friend's hand in his. "I'm sorry … didn't mean to be so rude. I don't know what came over me."

The tension at Frodo's little fit of pique dissolved as Frodo submitted to more gentle teasing about how everyone knew he was getting better the more irritable he became. He felt his anxiousness ebbing away as he gave in to the pleasure of his friends' company, joining so wholeheartedly in their light conversation that he didn't hear the creak of the garden gate.

"I thought I heard voices coming from the garden … hobbit voices, which are hard to mistake in the City."

Frodo turned to see Faramir approaching him with a wide smile on his handsome face. Why did he get so tongue-tied whenever he saw him? He found it easy to talk to him except for the first few minutes, when he had to calm his racing heart and slow his breathing into some semblance of normalcy.

Sinking down on the grass, Faramir stretched out next to Frodo and handed him a rectangular package wrapped in silvery paper and tied up with a deep blue bow.

"How do you feel today?" Faramir asked in a low voice as Frodo turned the package in his hands, wanting to tear it open and at the same time wanting to continue admiring its fine wrapping.

He looked up into Faramir's eyes. "Very well. I slept so well … don't think I've slept that well since I left Hobbiton." He felt his face growing hot, remembering his bath time thoughts. "And you?"

"Oh, I slept well too." Frodo almost crowed with delight when Faramir's face reddened slightly too. "It's good that we took Gandalf's advice and drank that vile brew since it seems to have done us both such good."

"Yes, that must have been it," said Frodo with a straight face.

"Well, aren't you going to open your present?" asked Merry as the hobbits crowded close to be in on the fun.

"Oh, yes, of course," Frodo stammered. He tugged carefully on the bow. As the ribbon loosened, the paper fell away to reveal a wooden box made up of squares of wood, dark alternating with light. He looked up at Faramir questioningly.

"I told you I'd think of something fun we could do together. It is a chess game. Do you know of it?"

"No. Tell me." Frodo ran his fingers over the box, marveling at its make. Were the little squares individual pieces of wood tightly fitted together, or were they just different stains on one length of wood? He could not tell.

"It is a game of strategy fought between two opposing armies. The box opens out to form a playing field. See? It opens up so you can spread it flat."

Frodo felt along the side of the box and discovered a little latch in the shape of a crescent moon. Sliding it aside with a soft click, he opened the box. Nestled inside were statues of different shapes. Half of them were white, the other half black. Each one was held fast in a bracket covered in black velvet.

"Oh!" Frodo exclaimed in delight. "What are they? They're all so different."

"These are our armies--king, queen, steward, captain, castle, and foot soldier. Help me take them out," Faramir said. He started pulling out the black pieces quickly, setting them on the grass next to him. Following Faramir's lead, Frodo pulled out the white pieces slowly, turning each cunning little statue in his hand before putting it down. When the box was empty, Faramir turned it over, the board now ready for its players.

"The object of the game is to capture your opponent's king, so you must protect yours very carefully with the other pieces." Faramir held up his king and placed it on the fourth square from the left on the row closest to him. Picking up his white king, Frodo looked at its intricately carved form for a minute--a winged helm for a crown--and placed it on his first row directly opposite Faramir's king.

"The king is the most important piece since losing him means you lose the game, but the king can only move one square at a time in any direction. You must be careful not to move your king to a square that is defended by an opponent's piece, as that will place him in grave danger."

"How can you tell?" Frodo looked in bewilderment at the board.

"A few quick matches will teach you that, I should think," broke in Gandalf, kneeling next to Frodo. "Perhaps Faramir and I should play the first couple of matches to give you the general idea."

Frodo scowled but said nothing. Looking across the board, Faramir winked at him before saying, "I would be honored to play with you later, Mithrandir. But I think the first games must go to Frodo. Doing is the best way to learn--that is, from my experience."

The wizard rose hastily. "Of course. Come along, you three," he said to Sam, Merry, and Pippin. "Let's leave them to their game. It takes much concentration to learn properly, even under the tutoring of such a fine teacher as Frodo has." The three hobbits trailed after the wizard into the house, casting lingering looks at the chess pieces awaiting their proper placement to begin the battle.

When Faramir had spoken so diplomatically to Gandalf, Frodo had thought his heart would burst. He had been afraid he would be jostled aside to watch from the sidelines.

Faramir smiled at him. "He means well, you know."

"I know. It's just that … I don't know … don't mean to be ungrateful …"

"It's hard to be treated like an invalid, isn't it--especially when you're feeling so much better?"

"Oh, yes." Frodo melted under the even gray gaze. "Do you really feel better today? I don't want you staying just to entertain me if you're still tired."

"Don't worry. I feel better than I have since … I don't know when." Faramir's brows contracted slightly. "And you? I know you said you slept well, and you certainly look rested, but don't feel you have to play if you're not up to it."

"I'm fine. Don't you start … I get enough of that from Sam and the others."

They laughed easily, shaking their heads at the shared understanding between two invalids who grow restive under the loving tyranny of their caretakers.

"Very well. Let's continue, then. This may be your first match, but you must expect no mercy on account of that."

Frodo beamed. "Do you worst. I'm ready."

* * *

Chapter 7

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Frodo. Checkmate … again."

Frodo groaned and rolled over on his back, arms spread wide and hands above his head in surrender. Was this the fourth or fifth game that had ended in his quick defeat? When Faramir had explained the purpose and movement of each piece, it seemed to Frodo that a sort of stately dance would be played out in front of his eyes. Now, after his latest ignoble trouncing, the chess pieces jostled around his overburdened brain in a confused mix of stumbles and hops across the board.

Turning his head, Frodo looked across the game board and asked hopefully, "That was 30 moves this time, wasn't it?"

"Maybe … not that I was keeping count." Faramir stretched out by Frodo's side, looking down into sparkling blue eyes that belied the frustrated groan.

"You said you'd think of something fun for us to do," Frodo complained, forcing his mouth into a straight line.

"I also said that it would take your mind off your troubles. Do you deny that it did that?"

"Oh, no … certainly not … though I never expected you'd give me a whole new set of problems."

"So … are you saying I should pack up my poor little present and take it away with me?" Faramir drew away quickly with a stern look in his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"No! How will I improve if you don't play with me every day?"

They stared at each other, faces reddening. Faramir turned over the chess board and started putting away the pieces, his fingers fumbling in haste, long hair screening his face. "Of course I'll come every day. We can play as much as you like. It is a difficult game to master, and you're learning more with each move. After all, it took at least 30 moves for me to capture your king this last time."

The now-familiar melting sensation spread through Frodo. Oh, he liked that feeling--liked even more the flush on Faramir's face and the long fingers that were still fumbling with the game pieces. He said quietly, "Thank you for my present. I love it--can't think of anything I would have liked better."

Faramir snapped the box shut and looked over at Frodo with a quick smile. "I'm glad you like it--hadn't any idea what to bring you until I ran across it last night in my rooms."

"It's something that belonged to you? That makes it even more special to me. Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's … don't know where she got it. I've had it as long as I can remember. I learned to play chess using this set. My father taught me."

"Not your mother?"

"No, she died when I was five, so I don't remember her very well."

Faramir passed the box to Frodo. Taking it carefully in his hands, Frodo traced the little squares gently. "I can't take this from you. It wouldn't be right." He set the box on the grass and pushed it regretfully toward Faramir.

"Don't you know it's rude in Gondor to refuse a gift? Anyway, I never use it anymore. I have a much grander set in my rooms. When I saw this one last night, I thought it perfect for you … hobbit-sized, if you don't me saying it."

Frodo picked up the box and held it close on his lap. "Thank you. It is perfect … and hobbit-sized." He sat quietly for a minute stroking the smooth wood. "What was your mother's name?"

"Finduilas. She was from Lossarnach … that's south of here."

"My parents died when I was young, too. I don't remember them much."

"Both at the same time?"

"Yes, they drowned." Frodo laughed shortly. "We hobbits generally don't do well in water. They were out boating on the Brandywine after dinner, and something happened. No one really knows how it happened … still makes for good gossip at the Green Dragon."

"You were very young?"

"Yes, I lived in Brandy Hall with my relatives until Bilbo adopted me and brought me to live at Bag End when I was in my tweens."

"Tweens?"

"Hobbits come of age at 33 … so we're in our tweens when we're in our twenties and early thirties."

"Very sensible. Well, according to hobbit reckoning, I've not long come of age myself."

"How old are you?"

"36. And you?"

"50. So you must obey me when I tell you to do something, young man … such as not beat me quite so quickly at chess."

"I shall try to remember that, though to me you still look like a … um … tweenager," chuckled Faramir, reaching his hand out to brush an errant curl from Frodo's eyes.

Feeling tongue-tied from Faramir's quick caress, Frodo cast about for something to say. "36 … that's how old Sam is, too."

"Is he? It's getting on toward evening. You must be getting tired."

Frodo sighed. "Yes, not that I like to admit it."

"You do have to take things slowly, you know. It's time for you to go upstairs, I think."

"All right. Will you come and talk with me for a while?"

Faramir nodded. "For a little while. I told Aragorn I would dine with him, so I mustn't stay too much longer. Perhaps we can go for a walk tomorrow after I capture your king a few more times."

They stood up and walked into the house. Their footsteps echoed against the wooden stairs as they climbed to Frodo's room.

"It's so quiet. Everyone must be out," Frodo said as they walked into his room. He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a clean nightshirt.

"Do you need any help?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I can manage."

"Why don't I set up your chess board so that it's ready in case you want to challenge Gandalf to a match?"

Frodo chuckled. "Yes, please do." Undressing slowly, he kept his eyes fixed on Faramir. He could do that without fear of discovery since Faramir kept his back carefully turned to the hobbit while he set up the chess game on a little table near the window.

Pulling back the covers, Frodo slipped into bed, his heart sinking at the continued sight of Faramir's back. He didn't blame Faramir for not wanting to look at his scarred body. Perhaps Faramir had seen his scars last night--the ugly gash on his shoulder, the red bump on his neck that was usually hidden by his hair. He looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

"You look sad." The mattress creaked as Faramir sat and took Frodo's hand in his, running his thumb over the stump in the way he always did when he held Frodo's hand.

"No, just a little tired. Losing chess games takes quite a lot of energy I've discovered." Frodo forced his mouth into a smile, lips curving ever so slightly. "Tell me about what you will do in Ithilien."

"Ah, there's so much work to be done to set things right again. I wish you could have seen it before it was despoiled."

Frodo leaned back comfortably against his pillows and listened to Faramir telling him in his gentle voice of the many things he hoped to do to make Ithilien bloom again. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes, not really paying attention to the words but relishing their soothing sound.

"I think you're about to fall asleep. Time for me to go."

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled apologetically. "Yes, I haven't even had a dose of that awful draught, but I don't think I can stay awake any longer. Thank you for coming to see me today, and for my present."

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Faramir leaned forward to brush his lips against Frodo's cheek. At the last second, Frodo turned his head a little. Faramir hesitated--his mouth hovering so close that Frodo felt his warm breath--and pressed down hard. Pushing upward eagerly, Frodo opened his mouth, his tongue taking a quick taste before Faramir gasped and drew back abruptly, stumbling a little as he stood and backed away from the bed.

"No … sorry," Faramir whispered. He turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut in his haste.

Frodo lay back with a heavy sigh. "You idiot. Now he won't come back."

* * *

It was late, stars filling the clear night sky, when Faramir sat down on the bench near the dead tree. Dinner had been lengthy and protracted; he had barely been able to pay attention to the conversation around the table. He had been so absentminded that Aragorn and Gandalf had teased him repeatedly for woolgathering in their midst. Finally, he had made his escape and wandered once more to the quiet courtyard.

Frodo wanted him; Faramir knew that now. When he had felt Frodo's mouth opening to him so hungrily--soft tongue licking his mouth--it had been all he could do to flee. He had stood outside Frodo's room for a long minute, fighting against his need to rush back to him--to push him flat on the bed and take him hard and fast until he squirmed and screamed with pleasure.

It was wrong, so wrong. Honor had claimed Faramir all his life; he had embraced it willingly and never struggled against it. He loved Eowyn with an easy calm that was returned in full and spoke of a long, happy life together. When he kissed her cool mouth, it soothed him and filled him with peace.

He had felt no peace when he had kissed Frodo, only an urgent desire to make the hobbit tremble and moan with the passion welling up in them. Passion. Faramir had never felt that before, though he was not inexperienced in lovemaking--had felt desire and satisfied it many times. He had come to the conclusion years before that passion was a figment of the fanciful stories he loved to read; his feelings for Eowyn told him he had been right. Even if there was such a thing, he had decided that it was not for him, not part of his character.

Then, Frodo had walked out of the Ithilien wood into his life and seemingly straight into his heart as though he belonged there. The past days had been a mix of hope and delight and guilt as Faramir had struggled to banish his need to be with Frodo--not just be with him but to touch him, hold him, push away all the dark shadows that enveloped them both. He had chided himself that what he felt was not returned, could not be reciprocated. Even when he had lain with Frodo through the long night and felt the hobbit wind his arms and legs around him, he had told himself it was for warmth and comfort. He knew the understanding they shared was true, knew Frodo accepted it. How could he not when he had felt Frodo's hand steal under his nightshirt and search out his wound?

What was he supposed to do now that he had felt Frodo's eager mouth responding to him? He had promised to see him tomorrow--no, to see him every day, he longed to see him every day. What must Frodo have thought when he had run away so quickly, pushed him away? What could he say to him to make him understand? Faramir could not bear to hurt Frodo. "It's too late for that," he thought sadly. "Kissing him on the cheek was just playing with fire, and now we're both caught in it."

So deep inside his troubled thoughts was Faramir that he did not hear quiet footsteps approach.

"You seem troubled, Faramir. Can I help?"

Faramir looked up to see Gandalf settling next to him on the bench. He forced his mouth into a welcoming smile that faded quickly. "Oh … I didn't hear you coming. Is dinner over?"

"Yes, it's growing late. Time for you to rest, I think … unless you care to tell me what's driven you out here by yourself."

"I just wanted a little quiet before I went to bed … needed to think …" Faramir's voice trailed away into silence as he looked at the ground.

"What has happened?"

"Nothing … that is … Frodo … Frodo and I … he wants …"

"Yes, he wants you, and you want him, do you not?"

Faramir nodded quickly, relief washing over him at finally being able to tell someone.

"It's not simple, is it?"

"No." Faramir straightened his back and threw out his hands toward Gandalf in a gesture of confusion and a plea for understanding. "I don't understand. I love Eowyn. Our life together will be happy. I know that, but …"

"It all disappears when you're with him."

"Yes. It's nothing I've ever felt before."

"It is the same for Frodo."

Faramir looked up, hopeful in spite of himself. "Is it?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure of it. You've quite overwhelmed him … not that he's spoken of it to me … he's keeping himself rather closed tight these days, at least as far as you're concerned. But I see it in his eyes … when he looks at you."

"I don't want to hurt him. He's suffered too much already. I thought I could help him, but now it just seems he'll be hurt more than ever, no matter what I do." Faramir continued in a low voice to himself, "I hurt him tonight."

"How?"

Faramir stood up, unable to sit still any longer. He paced restlessly back and forth. "I went to kiss him on the cheek, and somehow we ended up kissing … he liked it. So did I."

"Then, how did you hurt him?"

"I ran away … couldn't face him."

"Look at me." Faramir turned to face Gandalf, wincing inside at what he would see in the wizard's face. "It's true that Frodo suffers. He may never recover fully from his injuries. But, that doesn't mean he's not strong, not able to absorb more."

"I know, but I want to protect him … even though I know I'm the one he needs protection against."

"Ridiculous. Do you think he wants that kind of protection … to have his choices made for him? Does he deserve that from you … from anyone?"

"No … of course not. Still …"

Gandalf sighed and gentled his voice. "I know you want the best for him. So do I. It's not easy for me to see him longing for you, knowing it's likely to cause him more pain in the end. He's become quite irritated with all my hovering and nagging."

"Yes, I've noticed. Like today, when we were going to play chess?"

"Oh, yes, just like today. I told myself I was just trying to help, but, oh, that scowl on his face told me otherwise. I won't do that again. You and he must be left in peace to work out whatever will happen between you. I'll not interfere again, I promise."

Faramir sat down again next to Gandalf and said gratefully, "Thank you. You're right. It's just that I don't know what to do. I promised him I'd come see him tomorrow, but after what happened it doesn't seem wise."

"You will have to see him eventually, you know. Not going to see him tomorrow will just postpone the inevitable."

"Yes, you're right."

"You will come tomorrow?"

"I don't know … can't make my mind work right now."

"It's late. Go to bed, and think in the morning. Perhaps things will be clearer after a good night's sleep. Good night." Gandalf squeezed Faramir's shoulder and stood up to leave.

"Good night, Mithrandir. Thank you."

Faramir sat a few minutes longer in the quiet courtyard. Images jumbled through his mind--the smile on Eowyn's face as she rode away with Eomer, the hurt in Frodo's eyes when he had pulled away from him so abruptly. With a groan of frustration, Faramir stood up and walked quickly out of the courtyard, seeking his bed if not a restful sleep.

* * *

Chapter 8

_Lo! Lords and knights and men of valour unashamed,  
kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor,  
and Riders of Rohan,_

The voice was young and lilting though the orator was trying to deepen the sound to a sonorous tone suitable to the grand words. Turning a corner into the courtyard, Faramir kept himself hidden by a column while he spied on the speaker--a young girl of perhaps nine years, standing atop the bench near the tree. She stood proudly with her face held high, a light breeze raising her wheat-colored hair in a cloud around her head. As she continued her proclamation to the invisible crowd, she raised one arm, palm held up.

_and ye sons of Elrond, and Dunedain of the North,  
and Elf and Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire,  
and all free folk of the West,  
now listen to my lay._

Faramir stood still while she slowly declaimed the words first spoken by the minstrel at the Field of Cormallen. Though he had been told the speech word for word by an excited Pippin, he had not known its fame had spread to the City. His mouth twitched though he tried to keep his expression grave, befitting the solemn words of praise.

_For I will sing to you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom._

One hand pressed to her waist and the other to her back, she bowed to the silent ovation. Faramir walked forward, applauding with his hands held out. "Don't stop there, fair minstrel. Sing me your lay."

"Oh!" She looked up from her precarious perch, gray eyes frozen wide in surprise. When Faramir held his hand out to her, she nodded uncertainly and placed her small hand in his. Jumping down, she stood still, looking up in Faramir's smiling face.

Faramir motioned to her to sit, seating himself next to her on the bench. "Won't you continue? I would like to hear the rest."

She shrugged her shoulders and bit her lip. "I would, but … but … that's all I've learned so far." Sitting up straight, she favored him with a wide smile. "Return tomorrow, and I will tell you more … that is … if I have time to memorize it."

Faramir threw his head back and laughed, releasing the merriment he had been holding back the past few minutes. "I will certainly try," he gasped. "And now, what are you doing here? I don't believe I've seen you before. You seem a bit young to be a Guard."

"Oh, it's all right for me to be here. My uncle is Beregond of the Guard," she said with shining eyes. "I've come from Lossarnach to stay with him and see the City. He told me to wait for him here … he'll be back soon. He's very important, you know … is going to Ithilien soon with Prince Faramir."

"Ah, yes, I believe I have heard that. Is he with Faramir now?"

"Probably … Faramir can't do without him, you know. My cousin Bergil told me so," she confided.

"Then it must be true. What is your name, fair minstrel?"

"Don't tease. It's not nice."

Faramir inclined his head gravely. "My sincere apologies. May I know your name now?"

"Rian." She held out her hand.

Taking her small hand in his, he raised it to his lips. "It is a pleasure to know you, Rian."

She blushed and wriggled a little on the bench. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir … have not told me your name."

Raising an eyebrow, Faramir replied, "Most remiss of me, Rian. As it happens, my name is Faramir."

"Oh!" Rian's blush deepened. She stared at Faramir, consternation written on her young face. Her mouth trembled a moment--panicking Faramir that she might cry--before bursting into laughter. "Oh, that was very bad of you to let me go on like that."

Faramir joined her. "My apologies again … I'm afraid you make me want to tease you unmercifully."

They sat for a minute in the warm afternoon light as their laughter died away.

"May I ask you something, Faramir … I mean, Prince Faramir?"

"Of course. What is it you want to know?"

"Do you know Frodo … you know, the hobbit … it is hobbit, isn't it … such a funny word though I like it … the one with only nine fingers?"

"I do, indeed."

"Oh … is he horribly ugly and misshapen?" she asked with great relish.

Faramir's stomach clutched at her ignorant question. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, it's just that I've heard …well, that he's hideous from being tortured for months and months in …" Her voice trailed away, her eyes eager to hear the dreadful details of Frodo's mutilations.

Gentling his voice--it was not the child's fault that such foolish old wives' tales spread like wildfire through the City--he spoke softly. "I do not know where you heard that, but it is not true."

"But he does have only nine fingers, doesn't he?"

"Yes, and it is true he has suffered greatly--endured more than anyone else alive in Middle Earth. If you were to see him, you would know how wrong such gossip is. He is beautiful--inside and out."

"Oh." Rian's brow knotted as she thought on Faramir's words. "I didn't really believe what they said … not much." She looked up hopefully. "I would like to meet him."

"Would you? Why? To see for yourself if I'm telling the truth?"

"A little … mostly I think I'd like to tell him thank you. I know what he did."

"Then I shall arrange it for you, though it would embarrass him to be thanked. He is very humble and a little shy right now."

"Shy? So am I."

Faramir's mouth twitched lightly at Rian's blatant lie. "I see. The two of you would get on very well, then. I will make certain you meet him … will arrange it through Beregond. It might be a little while, though. Frodo has been ill recently and is still recovering. He doesn't go out much yet, though perhaps you might come visit him."

Rian's face brightened. "I'm very good with sick folk. I could sing to him and tell him funny stories … well, at least I think they're funny."

"I'm sure he would, too."

A deep voice spoke from the edge of the courtyard. "I hope you're not making a pest of yourself," said Beregond, striding forward to greet the newly-made friends. Though his words were a little harsh, he smiled as he said them.

Rian rolled her eyes at Faramir. "He's always saying something like that."

"I can't imagine why," Faramir whispered back. The two smiled at each other conspiratorially as Beregond stood before them, looking back and forth between them uncertainly. "Rian has been most entertaining this afternoon. I'm glad to have made her acquaintance."

Beregond chuckled and put his hand on Rian's bright head, stroking it fondly. "I can well imagine. She's been entertaining Bergil and me ever since she arrived last week. Speaking of Bergil, it's time for us to meet him … we're late, actually. Come along, Rian."

Sighing heavily, Rian got to her feet and cocked her head at Faramir. "I'll have that lay memorized … well, in a few days." She dropped a quick curtsey.

Faramir stood and bowed in his turn. "I will await your next performance most impatiently. Farewell for now."

Beregond and Rian walked quickly out of the courtyard. Just before disappearing around the corner, Rian turned back. "You won't forget, will you … you know, about Frodo?" she asked anxiously.

"No, I won't forget. You'll hear from me through Beregond." Squinting up at the sun, he cursed softly under his breath and followed them out of the courtyard. He had been so captivated by his young companion that he had lost track of time. The Warden would be waiting for him.

* * *

He had been a little surprised to receive the note from the Warden asking him to come see him. Well, not too surprised--the Warden had been carefully attentive to Faramir, making sure he took his measure at regular intervals. But, this had been the first time Faramir had received a summons from the healer. The note had been phrased courteously enough, but the veiled command had been clear.

Truly, his curiosity had been piqued by the wording of the note. "I would like to ask you a few questions about your wound. Please pardon my presumptuousness, but I think it necessary to set down your impressions before too much time passes." It was a good idea, Faramir thought to himself as he walked through the winding street leading to the gate to the sixth circle. Even if he had not felt such gratitude to the Warden for his kind caring during tedious days and shadow-filled nights in the Houses of Healing, he would have been glad to give the healer his thoughts.

Faramir smiled at the bustle around him and returned the many respectful greetings the people gave him as they went about their business. How busy and full the City had become. The excited shouts of children playing filled the streets that had been so deserted during the danger. He stood and watched them a minute, reminded of his lively new friend. Wives and daughters idled along, exchanging news with long-parted friends, as they made their way to the markets in the lower circles of the City. Just resting his eyes on the renewed life in the streets gladdened Faramir's heart.

The only thing missing was Frodo. With the guilt that thrummed inside him all the time now, he wondered how Frodo was getting on. He had not been back to see the hobbit since their disastrous kiss--knew he was being cowardly, yet could not trust himself to be around Frodo yet. The morning after their last meeting, he had sent Frodo a brief note telling him that he would not be able to visit him for a few days. He had made up a lie about having too many official duties that would make it impossible for him to get away at all. "So much for my honor," he had thought remorsefully as he had sealed the note and handed it to a servant to deliver.

His note must have made Frodo unhappy, he knew that. Faramir was disappointed in himself for his cowardice in not doing what he knew he needed to do--disappointed even more because it kept him away from the one he most wanted to see. Sometimes, Faramir asked himself what might happen if he was not bound to Eowyn. Could there be a future for him and Frodo? Even if he was free, how could he ask Frodo to come with him to Ithilien, so close to the Black Land?

Faramir walked through the gate into the sixth level, the Houses of Healing just a few steps away. Standing still a moment before its main entrance, his mind circled back to where it always did, try as he might to suppress his thoughts. Once again, his surroundings disappeared as desire for Frodo washed through him. How could it be wrong when he felt like he'd found the missing part of his heart--didn't know it had been missing until he had closed his hand around Frodo's and felt the hobbit's small fingers winding around his so trustingly. When he closed his eyes, Faramir still felt the softness of Frodo's lips opening under his searching mouth. He couldn't help it, he needed more--wanted to taste every inch of Frodo's skin, desperately needed to bury himself deep inside Frodo while the hobbit quivered around his hardness. He had thought time would lessen his desire, but the past few days had only sharpened his hunger.

Coming abruptly out of his reverie to find himself standing with one hand on the door to the Houses of Healing, Faramir straightened his shoulders and opened it. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he walked down the dim hallway toward the Warden's office. "Concentrate," he urged himself. "Otherwise, he'll think you're still sick and make you take some dreadful draught." Shuddering at the thought, Faramir knocked once on the Warden's door and entered the room.

The Warden was not there, but Frodo was--sitting in a chair in front of the Warden's desk, his legs dangling above the floor. Faramir reeled as though the breath had been knocked out of him by a quick blow to his stomach. He leaned against the doorway, fingers clutching it tightly.

"Frodo! What are you doing here?" he asked abruptly without even the barest greeting.

He kicked himself inside at letting such harsh words escape his lips. Miserably, he knew how it sounded to Frodo though the hobbit tried to cover his hurt feelings with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Such dark circles … hasn't he been sleeping? My fault," he thought.

"Gandalf told me the Warden wants to ask me some questions about my shoulder wound. Apparently, he plans to write it all down," said Frodo quietly, tired eyes meeting Faramir's calmly.

"Of course. That makes perfect sense. I got a note from him myself, asking me to come today for the same reason. He must think it easier to get done with both of us here at once." Faramir sank heavily into the chair next to Frodo, wanting to ask him why his eyes looked so tired--wanting to ask if he had missed him. There was only a foot or so between them, yet the distant look in Frodo's eyes and the polite tone of his voice widened the small gap into a chasm of misunderstanding.

"Yes, that must be it, though he didn't tell me you'd be here. He'll be back in a minute … said he needed to check on a patient before we begin." Frodo kept his eyes averted from Faramir, ostensibly taking in the healer's cluttered office.

"Are you sure you're up to answering questions today?" inquired Faramir, unnerved by the hobbit's apparent indifference to his presence. "You look so tired."

"I'm fine, thank you," said Frodo shortly.

Gandalf had been right. Not going to see Frodo had just postponed the inevitable. Worse, his delay and silence made their meeting that much more painful, at least for Faramir. Frodo's true reaction was a mystery to the anxious man. Taking a deep breath, Faramir took the plunge. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you. It was very wrong of me."

"I got your note … understand how busy you must be. You can't always be running off to entertain a sick hobbit." With that last comment, Frodo glanced at Faramir with a faint smile that disappeared as quickly as it had begun and left Faramir wondering if he had seen it at all.

Faramir winced. This was going to be even more difficult than his late-night imaginings had dreamed up. He tried a different approach. "Have you been playing chess?"

"Yes, certainly. You were right. Gandalf is an excellent opponent … and teacher. I've improved much over the past few days."

"Then I'm sure it will take more than 30 moves for me to take your king the next time we play," said Faramir, trying desperately to maintain a light tone. His heart sank when Frodo turned his head and looked at him with a cool disbelief that he had not seen before.

"I'll be glad to play you again when you're not so busy, but until then, I'm sure Gandalf will keep me in practice."

Faramir had ruined everything; he was sure of it. Frodo was acting as though Faramir was a polite acquaintance, someone with whom he'd exchanged perhaps a dozen words in his life, not someone in whose arms he had lain so contentedly all night. Frodo had trusted him even in the woods of Ithilien, and Faramir had destroyed it with his careless neglect and wavering guilt. He had thought his honor applied only to Eowyn, but what about this gentle creature who held his heart?

Casting about desperately to fill the silence that hung like an opaque cloud between them, he told Frodo about meeting Rian. "I met someone who I know you'll like to know. She's very funny … a little girl … the niece of Beregond, come to visit him for a while," Faramir babbled. "She'd like to come visit you."

This time Frodo didn't even both to give him a cool look. With a brief shake of his head, he said, "Thank you. Perhaps in a few days … when I'm less busy."

With that rebuff, Faramir was out of ideas. They sat in awkward silence until the Warden bustled into the room, his long robes pulling at the loose papers scattered on his desk.

"Ah, you are both here. Excellent. It is most good of you to come … truly such an opportunity to record your unique experiences … most grateful."

Frodo spoke carefully. "Gandalf told me you wanted to ask me some questions about the wound in my shoulder. What exactly is it you want to know?"

"Of course … such a vaguely worded request. I have compiled a list of questions about your wounds … so similar though of course not exactly the same, yours being by far the gravest. Which is why I wanted you both here together … easier to record similarities and differences if you are both here at the same time." The healer looked up, a hopeful smile on his kind face. "That is, if you both agree. I understand that it might be distressing."

"Not at all," responded Frodo with alacrity. "I don't mind. Ask away … that is, I don't mind, but perhaps Faramir does."

"No, it is an excellent idea," said Faramir quickly. "Are you ready with your questions?"

"Yes, quite," said the Warden, rifling through his paper-strewn desk a moment before pulling out a sheaf of closely-written parchment. "A moment, please, while I find my ink and some paper for your responses." Another rummage through the desk produced the needed supplies. The Warden cleared his throat and looked at the man and hobbit expectantly.

When the healer said nothing, Frodo and Faramir looked sideways at each other--the first real smile of amusement appearing on Frodo's face. "We are ready," said Faramir gently.

"Of course … yes … now to begin. First question: Both of you were pierced by a blade poisoned with the Enemy's foul arts … Frodo by a Morgul blade and Faramir by a Southron's dart … both of you by the Black Breath. What were your physical sensations after first being stabbed?" The Warden dipped the nib of his pen into his inkpot and held it poised above a blank piece of foolscap.

Faramir gestured to Frodo to go first. Frodo said slowly, "Well … um … it hurt."

A rapid scratching ceased just as quickly after the healer completed his short entry. "And?" he probed gently.

"There was a sharp pain that grew and spread as the poison got into my system."

The healer smiled. "Poison! Exactly my next question. How did it feel as the poison took hold?"

Faramir and Frodo looked helplessly at each other. "Perhaps you would like Faramir to answer the first question before I continue," hinted Frodo.

"Certainly … most forgetful of me. Faramir?"

"Very like to what Frodo described," answered Faramir shortly.

After making a quick notation, the healer turned to Frodo and prompted him, "And the effects of the poison?"

Faramir watched with growing dismay as Frodo spoke quietly of how the pain and numbness had spread throughout his shoulder and side, moving relentlessly down his arm until he could not move it. Beads of sweat formed on his brow at Frodo's description of how darkness had pulled him down into feverish nightmares. At the healer's urging, he repeated much of what Frodo had said.

When the Warden continued with the next foolish question--did Frodo or he experience any aftermath pain or discomfort and what was it like--Faramir watched Frodo's face going paler, his voice growing ever softer as he struggled to find the words to describe the shadows that pulled at him so insistently.

Able to bear it no longer, Faramir jumped to his feet, his chair squeaking loudly in protest. "Enough! Do not torture him so … can't you see what it's doing to him?" He leaned against the chair, breathing in harsh pants.

The Warden looked from Faramir to Frodo, flustered. "It is not my intention to cause the hobbit any distress, though I know it is a painful topic to discuss. He has done so very bravely. But perhaps it is enough today. We can continue another time."

Frodo looked up at Faramir, his wide eyes piercing Faramir with its stoic gaze. "I'm fine … truly. I would like to continue … that is, if you are able."

Shame washed through Faramir at Frodo's courage and compassion. "Yes, of course. Let us go on and get it over with," he said faintly. He pulled his chair close to Frodo and sat again. As the healer continued with the next question, Faramir slipped his arm around Frodo and pulled him close. Frodo rested his head against Faramir's chest and slipped his maimed hand into Faramir's, lacing their fingers together.

It seemed like the questions went on forever--recovery time after an attack, symptoms physical and emotional, details of bad dreams. Faramir longed to put an end to the relentless inquisition as he felt Frodo tremble against him. But the hobbit answered with great clarity everything that the Warden posed to him. With that example before him, Faramir could do no differently.

At last, it was over, the Warden bowing them out of his office after profuse thanks for their contributions to his records. They walked slowly out of the building and through the gate, headed back to the Citadel and Gandalf's house. Exhaustion pulled at both of them during the long, gentle climb.

They did not speak. It seemed there was nothing left to say after such intense questioning. Faramir held Frodo's shoulder lightly, feeling the hobbit's body shake though his steps did not falter. What a fool he had been to ever think Frodo could bear his lovemaking when even simple if hard questioning could tire him so.

As they drew close to Gandalf's house, Faramir asked, "You'll go right to bed, won't you?"

"Oh, yes … shall probably sleep a week." Frodo opened the garden gate and led Faramir into the back yard. They stopped at the door.

"Good … rest well. I will see you soon." When he turned to go, Faramir felt a small hand tug at his sleeve.

Frodo hid his face against Faramir's arm and whispered brokenly, "Don't say that if you don't mean it. Please … forgive me for what I did the other day … please. Don't stay away any longer."

Kneeling down, Faramir pulled Frodo to him, gently wrapping his arms around him. "It's not your fault. I wanted it too … was such a coward to run away. I'm the one who needs forgiveness." He buried his face against Frodo's throat, trembling, trembling--they shook in each other's arms. Frodo buried his hands in Faramir's hair, his stroking fingers healing the man's anguish at the hurt he had given Frodo.

One banished pain was replaced by another. "This is wrong," Faramir groaned. "I cannot. I'm not free to do this." The famished kisses he pressed to Frodo's throat denied his words. Oh, Frodo's skin was so sweet on his tongue he could drown in its taste.

"It's all right … I know," Frodo breathed.

Frodo moaned as Faramir's teeth nipped at his tender skin. The vibrations against his avid mouth sent Faramir over the edge, made him press harder to take all of Frodo's throat in his mouth, sucking hard. He dragged his lips up Frodo's jaw, licking its fine line. Taking his head in his hands, Faramir roamed over his face, dropping light kisses across his eyes, his mouth, his sweet mouth opening to him. Faramir pushed his tongue into Frodo's mouth, claiming what belonged to him, sucking Frodo's soft tongue into his own mouth.

Finally, Faramir pulled Frodo hard against him, his hands cupping his soft bottom, Frodo's member a hard brand scorching him. Burying his face in Frodo's throat again, its pulse beating wildly against his lips, they stayed still a long minute, swaying lightly. It was all Faramir could do not to push Frodo flat to the ground, out in the open where any passerby could see them--anything to ease the aching hardness that threatened to burst at any moment. "Mine," he thought, "mine."

Frodo whispered, "Please … don't stop coming to see me. I can't bear it. Even if we can't have what we want, I would not lose your friendship."

"Never that." With great effort, Faramir took Frodo by his shoulders and put him away from him. Faramir's heart melted at the naked trust in Frodo's eyes, all the distance of the afternoon fled. "I will come tomorrow … I promise." Faramir winced at the brief shadow of doubt that rippled across Frodo's face. "Forgive me … I lied before … I know it."

"It's all right." Frodo smiled at him, the corners of his tender lips trembling.

"I will come tomorrow … but … we must not …"

"I know." Frodo leaned forward and kissed Faramir gently in a benediction of forgiveness. Stepping back a pace, he gave Faramir a little push. "Off you go," he said lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right." Faramir stood up and walked away. Stepping through the garden gate, he turned back to see Frodo standing so still, watching him, all the sadness in the world etched across the planes of his face as though it was a part of his very bones.

Seeing Faramir look back, Frodo waved, his limp hand barely raising from his side. He turned to go into the house, his shoulders slumped miserably. "I love you," Faramir mouthed silently to Frodo's back.

Frodo stopped and turned around. Catching Faramir's eyes, he smiled, all the joy in the world contained in the curve of his upturned lips.

* * *

Chapter 9

"Ah … that was a loud one. It's coming on fast now," said Gandalf, motioning with his hand at the dark clouds. He and Frodo looked out on the approaching storm, the Field of Pellenor spread out a thousand feet below them from their perch in the Tower of Ecthelion. Frodo stood on a bench underneath the window so that he could see out, resting his elbows on the wide embrasure.

"I wish it would get here. It's not too hot in here, but still …" murmured Frodo, fascinated by how rapidly the clouds had built, swirling in one on top of the other in a play of grays shading to purple. One moment it seemed that the sky had been clear blue, and the next all had darkened and the thunder had grown loud in his ears, its vibrations moving through his feet up to his head.

"Yes, we can feel the mugginess even in here. I don't think you'll have to wait for long," said Gandalf, patting Frodo's back before moving away to speak with Aragorn.

The smell of the air added to the sense of expectancy with its scent of the rain that refused to fall. Frodo stood still, breathing in the mineral tang, the quickening breeze cooling his warm cheeks.

Hands clasped his shoulders lightly, strong hands that he had not felt on his body in too many days. He knew who it was--the man's clean scent surrounded him, pushing away the cool rain-filled air--but did not move, keeping his eyes trained on the field below.

"It's going to be a rare storm," said Faramir in Frodo's ear.

"Do you think it will last long?" asked Frodo, his shoulder blades twitching at the effort to stay still and not sink back into the longed-for embrace. The warmth of Faramir's hands spread across his chest and down his belly in curling tendrils. It was the first time Faramir had touched him since they had parted after their afternoon with the Warden, though he had come to see Frodo every day. In all that time, Faramir had carefully kept his distance.

"Yes, probably all night. Summer storms in Gondor are like that. The thunder builds and builds until you think it will drive you mad."

"Doesn't it make the rain that much nicer when it begins to fall?"

"Yes, you want it to never end."

"Look! It's starting." Large drops splashed against the edge of the deep windowsill, just a few at first, but with gathering speed and volume as the storm finally broke.

"It will go on for hours now," said Faramir.

Frodo turned and looked Faramir in the eye; he wanted to rest under the gaze of those gentle gray eyes forever. Even more, he wanted to wipe away the strain in them that appeared whenever they were together. There was a look in them that spoke of struggle between desire and duty. Frodo wondered if Faramir saw the same look in his eyes, or if only the wanting showed as it worked on him and crept inside both of them.

Frodo jumped down and went to Gandalf. "We should leave before it starts coming down too hard … get home before then."

"It's too late for that," warned Aragorn. A clap of thunder rumbled so loudly that it seemed to shake the foundations of the building. Immediately after, the rain came down in earnest, sheets of it slanting against the windowsill, darkening it creamy stone to a light gray. "I think you'd better stay here tonight … or at least until the rain slackens, though it's likely to go on all night."

"Yes," says Gandalf. "I don't mind walking in the rain, but I don't want Frodo caught in it. Aragorn, this will give us the chance to talk more fully of your plans for Anorien … we've barely touched on them in all our discussions. Perhaps Faramir will give Frodo a chess game … and arrange for a room for him for the night?"

"Yes, of course," Faramir agreed quickly.

"You needn't … you probably already have plans for the evening," blurted Frodo, his face reddening at the foolishness of his protest.

"No … truly. That way you can see the chess set I told you about. You'll like it," reassured Faramir.

"All right, then."

Frodo grew a little lightheaded as they moved through the winding corridors of the Tower, coming closer to the rooms he'd not seen before--the one set of rooms he longed to see. Hope flared up in him that maybe … "Don't do anything stupid. You know what he said before … he's been so careful not to touch you. Don't ruin it … you have his friendship, don't risk it by doing something foolish," he chided himself as they turned a corner and stopped in front of a large wooden door, the spreading branches of the white tree intricately carved on it.

* * *

"Oh, dear, it looks like my king is caught in a trap," murmured Faramir.

Frodo nodded, his eyes glued to the board. He was so close to winning--had taken advantage of Faramir's distraction as they played on through the storm. While Frodo had kept his attention carefully on the game for the most part, Faramir had barely been able to keep track of their moves, seeming to fall into a reverie each time it was Frodo's turn. Frodo had repeatedly reminded him that he had made his move.

"Yes, I believe I have you surrounded. Do you surrender?"

Faramir smiled. "Not yet … not so fast, my friend," he chuckled. "I don't think it's completely irretrievable yet." He sat back and surveyed the board.

While the thunder had ceased its rumbling, the rain still poured down hard and fast as night had drawn its cover over the sky. Frodo felt like they were snug in a little cocoon of warmth. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he looked across Faramir's sitting room past the open door into his bedchamber. It was dimly lit by one small lamp, but the light was enough to show him a large bed. The four-poster bed was furnished with burgundy velvet curtains, though they were all drawn back now and tied up against the posts. The rich color was repeated throughout both rooms in wall hangings and soft cushions, a deep wine-red that complemented the dark wood of the room's furnishings.

Dragging his eyes away from the beckoning bed, Frodo looked back to Faramir, still sunk in careful thought on his king's predicament. It seemed to Frodo that, though he had seen Faramir clothed splendidly in garments befitting his high rank, he never looked as fair as when he was dressed simply. Coming into the room, Faramir had pulled off his boots, jesting that he would go "hobbit-style" for the evening.

Tonight, the young man wore dark green leggings and a white shirt open at the throat. The shirt's sleeves were rolled up, revealing lightly tanned forearms covered in fine hair. While Frodo had been able to concentrate quite well on the game, the sight of Faramir in his white shirt had caused him more than a few moments of his own distraction. His eyes had been drawn repeatedly to the shirt's opening. It had been difficult not to fixate on the glimpse of Faramir's chest with its silken sprinkling of hair. As Faramir moved back and forth to make his moves, the shirt slipped open and closed, tantalizing Frodo with the sight of Faramir's strong chest. Frodo tried to remember what it had felt like to run his hands over Faramir's chest the night they had lain in each other's arms. Even more, he wanted to know how it would feel to rub his own bare chest against Faramir's. Would the hair scratch him, or would it slide against him like coarse velvet?

Frodo started when Faramir waved his hand in front of him. "Now whose turn is it to be woolgathering?" asked Faramir softly. He smiled, but Frodo saw the strain return to his eyes. Unable to control the flush creeping up his neck, Frodo sat forward and laughed.

"Just contemplating my victory," he said lightly. Oh, dear, what move had Faramir made? As Frodo looked back and forth across the board, he admired once more the carved marble statues. They were large and heavy in his hand when he moved one, resembling the statues he had seen at the Argonath in their power and grace.

Spying Faramir's move--well, all that concentration hadn't helped the man much--he picked up his castle and hefted it in his hand. He thought the castle was his favorite piece. It was formed in the shape of the Tower of Ecthelion even down to the banner that flew frozen from its topmost turret. He waved it across the board and lightly knocked Faramir's king. "Checkmate."

Faramir groaned and lay back against his chair, his arms raised in surrender. "And here I thought I'd been so careful. Very well, you have your victory."

They sat still for a minute, silence lengthening between them, the only sound the rain filling the room with its steady spattering against stone. Finally, Faramir sat forward and started to rearrange the chess pieces on the board.

"Shall we play again?" he asked, his eyes trained on the board.

"It's a little late, I think, to begin again," answered Frodo, moving his own pieces back into position.

The board lay set for another game. Frodo murmured, "Time for me to find my room," but he made no move to stand. He sat with his hands in his lap; his hands were shaking so he kept them hidden in his lap, his fingers curled in on each other. Hearing a little sound--perhaps the quick exhalation of soft breath--he looked up. Faramir was sitting forward, tears starting in his eyes, his hand raised to Frodo with its palm turned upward.

Frodo gazed at Faramir's outstretched hand--the long, slender fingers so elegant and gentle in spite of all the fighting Faramir had seen in his life. How had Faramir remained so gentle in the midst of the danger that had surrounded him for so many years?

The world disappeared. There was no sound of rain or thunder or soft breathing. It was all swallowed up as Frodo concentrated on lifting his trembling hand and placing it in Faramir's. He stood and let Faramir pull him to him. Was he walking through water? Had the rain seeped in while they had played and pooled in a warm pond on the floor that dragged at his ankles with each step he took?

Seating himself on Faramir's welcoming lap, Frodo settled with his thigh pressing against Faramir's belly. They laid their cheeks against each other's, Frodo's smooth cheek married to Faramir's silken beard. Their hands met and entwined, fingers lacing together.

Faramir's voice was low and hoarse. "I love you--should have told you before."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. I've been such a coward … and a liar. I did say it the other day after we got back from seeing the Warden … when you were walking into the house with your back turned to me. I thought maybe you heard me though I only spoke it in my mind … thought maybe you read my mind the way you turned back and smiled at me."

Frodo snuggled closer. "Did you? That's so strange. I was going into the house and then somehow I knew I had to turn back and smile at you … couldn't bear to let you leave with seeing me looking so sad."

"Ah … maybe you did read my mind. You never warned me that hobbits are mind readers … not very fair of you, is it?" Faramir complained, pulling back in mock irritation.

Frodo smiled and kissed the tip of Faramir's nose. "Try reading my mind … it's very easy, I assure you. There's only one thing in it."

"Oh, no … I am but a man of after years, not some Numenorean newly delivered from the waves. I've no powers of hearing or seeing other than what I can achieve with my ears or eyes." His eyes darkened. "Tell me," he demanded.

Frodo spoke softly, his eyes echoing his words. "It wasn't very nice of me the way I answered you just now … not saying it back to you … especially since I feel the same way." Now that it had come to the point, he felt shy of saying the words.

"Tell me," Faramir demanded again, shaking Frodo by the shoulders, gentleness overwhelmed by need.

"I love you, too."

They looked into each other's eyes and flushed, shyness coming over both of them. Faramir turned his face to rub Frodo's cheek again with his own. They stayed that way, drifting in the warmth of their spoken words, lightly rocking back and forth. Frodo's hand was surrounded by Faramir's, clenched into a contented little fist. Opening his fingers, he spread Faramir's apart and began to stroke his lover's palm with the backs of his fingers. They barely dared to breathe as their hands moved in a tender dance of exploration--now tracing the curve of open fingers, now pressing palm to palm.

Something was heating Frodo's thigh, something hard that unfurled like a living thing and begged to be caressed. When Frodo rubbed his thigh against the thickened shaft, its hardness meant for him alone, Faramir groaned and pulled Frodo hard to his chest, the dance of their hands abandoned. Frodo squirmed to draw closer and erase all distance, straddling Faramir's lap--anything to press closer to chest and belly and meet hardness with his own hardness. While he had felt Faramir's mouth on his lips and throat before, it had been nothing like the insistent kisses he now felt opening him. He could barely breathe--didn't want to breathe, didn't need to breathe, he would let Faramir breathe for him. Faramir kissed Frodo so hard--his tongue tasting, demanding, claiming--that he felt his lips swelling even as Faramir dragged down to feast on Frodo's throat, muttering "mine … mine," and then back again to take his mouth.

Frodo's moans of pleasure only made Faramir kiss harder. Running his hands over Frodo's body, rough and eager, he pushed Frodo backward. The hobbit arched his back to meet Faramir's mouth as it sank into his neck--biting, sucking, licking--as though he would take all of Frodo in with his mouth lest he disappear.

"Bed …" Frodo gasped.

"Are you sure? I'll not stop once I have you there."

Frodo slid his hand down between them and squeezed. Crying out sharply, Faramir stood up. Frodo wrapped his legs around Faramir's waist as he was carried to the bed, Faramir's hands clasping his bottom tight.

* * *

Chapter 10

The wine-dark velvet cover was plush and thick under Frodo's body. He wriggled his toes against it, the deep pile brushing against him as he lay on his back. The room was cool from the sheltering stone walls and the rain-fresh air flowing in through an open window, but he was warm from the weight of Faramir lying between his open thighs. Faramir lay suspended above Frodo on his elbows, his long hair falling in a soft curtain around Frodo's face. Now that they had come to this point, they were a little bashful. They darted uncertain glances into each other's eyes, their faces flushed from need.

"Am I too heavy for you?" whispered Faramir.

Too heavy! Never that. "No," Frodo breathed. Though he lay pinned beneath Faramir's body, unable to move, he had no desire to move from this place. He was exactly where he needed to be, held flat to the bed by his lover's long body.

Faramir lifted his hand and stroked Frodo's face, his knuckles circling the hobbit's appled cheek, teasing the line of his jaw, pushing lightly against his full lips. With his mouth, he traced the tender path already drawn--softly, so softly, barely touching. It seemed to Frodo almost as if Faramir was frightened that he would bruise him with anything more than a feather-light touch. Frodo's eyes fluttered shut, his parted lips grazing Faramir's as they breathed into each other's mouths.

Sinking down, Faramir buried his face against Frodo's throat, nuzzling close up under his ear. Frodo shivered at the warm breath tickling him, tongue tasting just under his earlobe, leaving a little wet spot that cooled quickly as Faramir dragged his mouth lower. When Faramir traced the point of the hobbit's ear with one gentle finger, the touch sparked down and around Frodo's spine, blooming in a quick throb in his aching member. He wrapped his arms around Faramir's neck and pulled him down hard, Faramir's weight pressing him deeper into the velvet. They lay still, just breathing together, their hearts beating together. Frodo smiled against Faramir's hair when his lover trembled in his arms.

Growing impatient, Frodo pushed suddenly against Faramir's chest, rolling them over and seating himself on Faramir's lap with his knees spread wide. The quick look of surprise in Faramir's eyes softened into desire. Frodo exulted at the look--all the struggle melted away, only love and desire shining in those beautiful gray eyes.

Faramir still wore the white shirt that had tempted Frodo all evening with its glimpses of lightly-furred bare skin. Frodo slipped his hand inside its open neck and stroked quickly, his fingertips tingling. Pulling back just as quickly, he sat still, his bottom cushioned against Faramir's lap, heated ridge pushing at him. Encircling Frodo's waist, Faramir squeezed lightly before drawing his hands up to his shoulders and slipping off his braces.

Taking them in his fingers, he rubbed the thick fabric and laughed. "Do hobbits not know how to keep up their breeches without these silly things?

Frodo retorted, "They're very practical … let you leave a little room to grow."

"Ah, now I understand. Very important, I expect, to such greedy creatures."

After a brief caress of Frodo's flushed cheek, Faramir placed his hands on Frodo's chest, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Was it the night-cool breeze that hardened the hobbit's nipples into sharp little points? Faramir grazed them lightly with his palms before dropping his hands flat on the bed, waiting with demanding eyes.

Frodo contemplated the white shirt carefully, biting his lip in concentration. Leaning over a little, he unbuttoned it slowly and spread it open. His eyelids grew heavy as he drank in the sight of Faramir's naked chest with its fine hair curling across it, tapering to a narrow line that disappeared beneath the waist of his leggings. Frodo couldn't help licking his lips as he skimmed the furry line with his fingertips.

When Faramir lifted up to slip off his shirt, his chest brushed against Frodo. Whimpering at the glancing touch, Frodo watched Faramir lay back. They stared at each other, just stared for a minute until Faramir reached his hand out to stroke the scar on Frodo's shoulder. He rose up to press a gentle kiss to the straight white line. It didn't ache, didn't throb, not tonight. His wound didn't exist tonight.

The small puckered scar on Faramir's chest called to Frodo, but when he lifted his hand, it was so heavy. His hand dragged through the air as he lowered it to cover the healed wound with his palm and reached down to kiss it softly. When he tried to sit up again, Faramir pulled him closer and ran his hands around the hobbit's back. Their chests met fully, bare smoothness sliding against silky hair for the first time. "Aaahhh." It wasn't like velvet, it was finer than velvet--soft fur with warm, living skin underneath. Frodo could barely believe that he was lying there half-naked in Faramir's arms, the man's fingers gripping his shoulder blades, little wings folded up snugly beneath sheltering hands. Surely he was dreaming, but could a dream be so substantial? If he was dreaming, could he feel every beat of Faramir's heart against his chest like it was his own?

Though Frodo could have lain all night with his head resting on Faramir's broad shoulder, Faramir had other ideas. He rolled over on top of Frodo, pressing against the hobbit's narrow chest, the deep pile of the bed cover embracing him. Frodo arched his back when Faramir slid down, his beard softly scratching beaded nipples--no, not scratching, it tickled and made Frodo's nipples harden even more. Frodo busied his hands around Faramir's head, his fingers clutching restlessly as Faramir closed his mouth on one aching nipple--hot mouth clamping down, wet tongue circling. It seemed to Frodo that his entire body would be drawn up through the point of his nipple into Faramir's avid mouth.

Just when Frodo feared he would melt into a little puddle then and there, Faramir released him, dragging his tongue down Frodo's chest, down his belly, dipping into his navel. It tickled but not in any way that Frodo had ever felt before. Frodo squirmed, combing his fingers through tangled long hair, the velvet rough against his back compared to Faramir's soft tongue. Faramir ran his tongue under the fabric of Frodo's breeches, searching for tender skin beneath stiff cloth. Suddenly, his hands clasped Frodo's breeches, undoing their fastenings and pulling them off.

Frodo lay still, his naked body open as his lover knelt between his spread thighs and gazed at him, a small smile curving his lips. With one finger, Faramir rubbed little circles around the tip of Frodo's hardened member as it twitched against his wet belly.   
He quickly stroked down the ridge, leaving a glistening trail, before he bent down and dropped a kiss, tongue flicking at the pulsing shaft. Before Frodo had the chance to pull Faramir's head closer--oh, to feel his mouth around him completely--Faramir jumped off the bed. "Stay here, I'll be back in a minute," he said softly before walking quickly through a closed door.

Laying flat, his hips canted to one side, Frodo watched Faramir move away wearing only the tight leggings, taut muscles of his rear outlined under the shifting fabric. Frodo lay still a minute, catching his breath, his body chilled a little now that Faramir's warmth had deserted him. Squirming up the mattress, he pulled the covers down and lay back against the snowy sheets, crisp linen cool against his bare skin.

Frodo didn't have to wait long for his lover to return. He caught his breath when Faramir strode back into the room, for the man had shed his leggings and was completely naked. At the sight of Faramir walking toward him, a little earthenware flask in his hand, Frodo felt a flush cover him that seemed to start at his toes and rise up to the very roots of his hair. How beautiful Faramir was with his long, lean muscles. How was it possible for a man to be so beautiful? The thin line of fur on Faramir's chest that Frodo had traced with tingling fingers curled past his waist until it spread out into a soft nest of tangled hair that surrounded his thick shaft swaying lightly with each step.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Faramir put the flask on the bedside table. His voice was hesitant. "I'll try to go slow … tell me if anything hurts."

Frodo fixed saucer eyes on Faramir's long, thick member, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Dragging his head up reluctantly, he looked at Faramir's face. The man swallowed nervously, his hands in his lap, fingers moving restlessly against his thighs. Frodo drew his brows together questioningly but didn't say anything.

"I've not done this before … that is … not with a male." Faramir laughed shortly. "Definitely not with a hobbit … tell me if I don't do it right."

"You've still more experience than I have," Frodo murmured, his eyes softening as he held out his arms. "Come … hold me."

Faramir slid onto the bed and leaned over Frodo. The cool air around Frodo warmed from the man's returning closeness. Faramir stroked Frodo in one long slide from his neck down his chest to his waist, and then further, from his waist down the elegant curve of the hobbit's hip. Reaching around to squeeze his bottom lightly, Faramir circled back to run the back of his hand down Frodo's inner thigh. Though Faramir's hands were in constant motion, Frodo felt them everywhere. It was as though, once Faramir had touched him, the ghost of his long fingers remained pressed lightly into his skin.

"Your skin is so smooth … like satin. Do all hobbits have satin pelts?" Faramir marveled. Sliding down, Faramir mouthed the soft skin of Frodo's thigh, tasting him, his thumb stroking the crease at the top of his thigh.

With a soft cry, Frodo pulled him up. He demanded a kiss, their mouths wet and warm, tongues exploring the tender insides of their mouths. Faramir's hand roamed up and down, searching, squeezing Frodo's bottom, his fingers parting the cleft between his cheeks. He found the small opening but made no move to push inside as he stroked the tender ring. Frodo whimpered, wanting more than Faramir's tongue circling inside his mouth.

When Faramir drew back, Frodo gasped in disappointment. "Sshh." Rolling Frodo gently onto his stomach, Faramir palmed the hobbit's bottom, first taking one and then the other cheek in his hand and squeezing softly, dropping quick, nipping kisses that made Frodo jerk in surprised pleasure, running his tongue into the little cleft for a brief taste.

When Faramir reached for the flask, Frodo looked over his shoulder. "But I want to hold you when you're in me."

"You will … I promise." Smiling, Faramir pushed Frodo's head back against the sheet, bent down and nuzzled his neck, kissing across his shoulder.

Frodo forced himself to lay still, waiting as he heard a little pop. He twisted when something cool and wet drizzled onto the crease of his bottom and slipped between his cheeks. Fingers parted him, sliding smoothly on the oil that warmed from their skin. More oil flowed onto him with a chill that quickly heated as it poured directly on his small opening. Faramir's fingers were everywhere, petting him everywhere--pressing round and round his opening, slipping down to squeeze the root of his member, cupping his soft sac. Frodo pushed against Faramir's busy fingers, moaning, squirming on the sheets. With every twist, the crisp sheets rasped against his shaft with a delicate friction that sparked out in every direction. Then, Faramir's fingers were back again at his opening, pushing this time, pushing gently inside. It was pain/not pain, this stretching of his most intimate part. Frodo wanted more; it wasn't enough, so he pushed back against the fingers circling inside him. Faramir's fingers moved deeper now, caressing something inside him that sent shocks up and down his spine yet, at the same time, made him feel like his bones were melting. Faramir stilled his fingers and dragged his mouth up Frodo's back. He licked the curve of the hobbit's spine, his tongue chasing the little shocks that had sparked from his twisting fingers. His long hair fell against Frodo's sides as his head roved up and down. "Please … please … please …" Frodo moaned, rocking against Faramir's motionless fingers.

When Faramir pulled away suddenly, Frodo sighed, empty as Faramir's fingers were withdrawn. Just as quickly, he found himself turned on his back, Faramir surging into his arms. They rubbed against each other, Frodo's hardened shaft pressing against Faramir's belly, Faramir's thick length scorching Frodo's thigh. Faramir kneeled between Frodo's open legs, spreading the hobbit's thighs wide, looking down at him with a smile.

Frodo felt the heat of Faramir's hardness even before he took it in his hands. He gloated over its length and thickness, drawing the slick fluid flowing from its tip down its length. Faramir's desire still amazed Frodo; it astonished him that this glorious man wanted him even as he held the evidence in his small but capable hands.

Reaching for the flask again, Faramir poured the oil on himself, the scent of roses filling Frodo's senses. Frodo carefully spread the oil, his hands reaching around, stroking up and down, circling, twisting. Each stroke made Faramir moan and filled Frodo with pride that he could pleasure his lover so well.

With a hoarse cry, Faramir sank down on Frodo and buried his face against the hobbit's throat, trembling. His body shook as Frodo held him close, his fingers digging into Faramir's shoulders. Frodo whispered against Faramir's hair, "… love you … love you."

Faramir pushed himself up again, pulling Frodo's knees up with him, his hair screening his rapt face. Frodo's hands were at Faramir's chest, bracing him, his palms chafing hard nipples peeking out from silken hair. Taking his member in his hand, Faramir pushed carefully, rocking back and forth, the tip rubbing but not entering. Faint from the teasing friction, Frodo whimpered, pulling at Faramir. Finally, Faramir eased the head inside, groaning. Frodo tried not to pull away, tried to keep his body relaxed, but the pain of being split open tore at him as Faramir pushed slowly, the man's body trembling violently as he gained inch by inch.

Fully seated, Faramir held himself still while his shaking subsided, Frodo's muscles gripping him so tightly, fluttering around him. When he opened his eyes and looked down, Faramir saw tears trickling from the corners of Frodo's eyes. He lowered his head to lick away the teardrops, whispering, "Oh, no … sorry …"

Frodo took a shuddering breath. "It's all right … don't stop."

When Faramir began to move slowly in and out, Frodo's pain dissolved in the heat radiating from the live thing moving in him, stroking that little part deep inside him. Frodo pulled at Faramir, his legs wrapped around Faramir's bottom, his hands gripping Faramir's biceps tightly. It was better now; no, this taut fullness was all he had wanted, this dance that had begun with their hands while he had sat on Faramir's lap. The dance filled their bodies now with a spiraling pressure that built with each push and pull.

Frodo twisted as Faramir thrust faster, his hand wrapped around Frodo's member, his thumb caressing the hobbit's slippery tip. Whimpering, Frodo pushed frantically against Faramir, his body arching high as he splashed against Faramir's hand and his own belly. Faramir moved hard and fast, pulling Frodo's eager bottom tight to him, his cries echoing in Frodo's heart. He screamed Frodo's name over and over until he came in long spasms. This was glory; all Frodo had ever wanted was to feel Faramir pulsing inside him, his muscles squeezing out the last drop of his lover's flowing seed.

Faramir swayed above Frodo as their release died down slowly. He dropped down heavily, breathing hard, holding Frodo close and murmuring to him, their bodies damp with sweat and oil and seed, the scent of roses and salt and rain-cool air surrounding them. Rolling over, still joined, Faramir sighed, "I love you, my Frodo."

Frodo drifted in a warm fog of contentment, dimly feeling Faramir's hands dragging lazily against his back. Pressing his face to Faramir's throat, he tasted his moist skin. Oh, yes, the scent and taste of his throat was best. When he shivered, Faramir drew the covers up around them, tucking them carefully over Frodo's shoulders. Frodo started when his stomach rumbled loudly.

Faramir turned his head and grinned, eyebrows raised. "Is it thundering again?"

Frodo punched him in the arm. "You wore me out. I'm hungry."


	3. Chapters 11-15

Chapter 11

The early morning light filtering across the bed woke Faramir. Surfacing slowly, he lay still with his eyes closed, trying to recapture the sweetest dream of his life as it hovered just out of reach. At first, he knew nothing but the warmth of the bed and a pleasant lassitude pressing him into the soft mattress. He thought idly that he should get up but made no move to do so. Gradually, he grew aware of soft breathing against his shoulder and knew that the warmth did not come from his body alone.

He opened his eyes and looked at Frodo curled next to him, the hobbit's tousled head pillowed on his small hand. Amazement tugged at him that Frodo lay sleeping next to him so peacefully. It hadn't been a dream after all, he marveled, the memories of the previous night rushing in on him--Frodo's mouth on his shoulder, the way Frodo's body tensed before he climaxed.

His fear and reluctance to take Frodo into his bed had dissolved last night as they had played chess. Though Faramir knew a reckoning would wait for him, he had not been able to deny his heart's yearning any longer. When Frodo had placed his small hand so trustingly in his, Faramir's doubt and worry had disappeared in his need to claim Frodo as his own. Had the world been remade during the night as he and Frodo had come together again and again? Desire had pierced them ever more sharply even as it had been slaked by soft kisses that hardened into bruising caresses and left them both crying out for more.

How fragile Frodo had seemed with his pale skin and slight bones--yet, how strong his arms had been as they had twined around Faramir and held him tight through the long night. When Faramir had entered Frodo for the first time and seen the tears trickling from his eyes, he had been ashamed that, in his eagerness, he had been too rough. He had tried to withdraw, but Frodo had just pulled him closer and reassured him with soft words that turned into cries of pleasure. Ah, Faramir thought back to how he had longed to hear Frodo scream with delight and squirm beneath his thrusting hips. The reality had been almost more than Faramir could bear. He grinned as he thought that he had more than borne it, seeking those ecstatic cries over and over through the night until they had sunk exhausted into sated slumber.

The golden light of morning showed Faramir the effects of the night just passed. It seemed to Faramir that there was more light than came from the rising sun--it was something that glowed from within Frodo. The marks of Faramir's desire showed clearly against Frodo's pale ivory skin--his full lips still swollen and rosy from hungry kisses, the purpled stain on the hollow of his throat. The hobbit had moaned whenever Faramir closed his mouth there and drawn the soft flesh tight.

Faramir reached out his hand and smoothed Frodo's tumbled curls from his sleeping eyes. When he kissed the tender corner of Frodo's mouth, the hobbit smiled but did not wake. He mumbled incoherently and drew closer, flopping over on to Faramir's chest, rubbing his face against Faramir's throat and inhaling deeply. Frodo's skin was warm as Faramir held him close and breathed in the musk of their lovemaking. Suddenly, Frodo's mouth gaped in a sleepy yawn.

"Mmm … it can't be morning already, can it?" Frodo murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness. He stretched luxuriously and hooked his leg over Faramir's waist.

Laughing softly, Faramir whispered, "I can draw the curtains around the bed and make it night again. Shall I?"

Frodo looked up, his heavy-lidded eyes soft with sleep and quickening desire. "Yes," he breathed, nuzzling Faramir's throat, warm tongue tickling.

Crawling around the bed, Faramir untied the curtains and drew them closed, the air darkening as the velvet enclosed them snugly in their own little world. Tugging at the last curtain--leaving it open just a little bit--he looked down at his lover. Frodo kicked the covers back, opening his arms and legs, pulling Faramir down into his eager embrace. Soon, soft cries of discovery and delight amid the rustling of sheets filled their shadowed den while the forgotten day brightened outside.

* * *

"They are too bigger," Faramir retorted.

"Are not," Frodo huffed with mock resentment.

"Well, just look." They pressed their feet together, sole meeting sole, the warm bath water sloshing gently against the tub's smooth sides. In truth, Frodo's toes hung past Faramir's, just a little.

"How you hobbits manage to walk more than two paces without tripping over them is a mystery to me."

"Hmph. You didn't seem to mind them when I had my legs wrapped around you a little while ago."

"Come here," Faramir growled softly.

With a happy sigh, Faramir wrapped his arms around Frodo as the hobbit lay against him, his back curving just so on Faramir's welcoming chest. They lay quietly in the warm water, wisps of steam rising from its still surface. Faramir wondered if the wanting would ever stop and knew it would not. When a pang of guilt rose inside him, his hands clenched around Frodo's chest, fingers digging hard as he tried to banish his blasted conscience.

Frodo turned and looked at Faramir, his brow knotted. "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Faramir dissembled. "Nothing."

"Yes, there is, I know it … know what it is. What … what do we do now?"

His mouth drawn into a tight line, gray eyes pleading, Faramir said slowly, "I don't know. Please … can we not think of that for a little while longer? I know we have to face it, but not yet."

Faramir relaxed when Frodo's worried face softened into serenity. "All right," Frodo soothed. "So we'll pretend for a while." He leaned up and kissed Faramir. "Um … can we pretend some more hot water?"

"Oh, more than pretend, I should think."

* * *

"Wait … the juice is dripping down you," Faramir cautioned. Taking Frodo's chin in his hand, Faramir tilted the hobbit's head to get at the strawberry juice coating him. Frodo squirmed at Faramir's tongue swiping his sticky skin.

Laughing, Frodo complained, "That tickles. Those strawberries are too big … like all things in Gondor."

"Like your robe?" Faramir laughed and tugged at Frodo's robe. It was one of his bathrobes and dwarfed the hobbit in its capaciousness, its sleeves rolled up into thick cuffs that reached to Frodo's elbows. The hem dangled far past Frodo's feet as he sat curled in Faramir's lap. They sat at a small table in Faramir's sitting room, eating as though they'd not had a meal in days. Strawberries, fresh bread, pale yellow butter, cool milk, thick slices of smoked ham--they devoured everything in its turn, exclaiming over how good it all tasted.

Faramir watched Frodo eyeing the last plump strawberry. With one hand, he held Frodo close; with the other, he stretched toward the berry. Frodo cried out and reached for it in vain as Faramir captured the prize and held it high.

"Oh, you are unfair," Frodo protested. "You've had way more than I have."

"What do you mean 'unfair'? I'm much bigger than you are, so it seems perfectly right that I should have more. Anyway … I thought you said it was too big."

With a lopsided grin, Frodo said, "I said it was too big … didn't say I didn't like it that way … like some other large things I could mention." He reached for the strawberry again, but Faramir just held it high and chuckled.

Raising an eyebrow, Faramir suggested, "I might be persuaded to share it … that is, with the right reward."

"Oh … and what did you have in mind?"

Biting his lip and casting his eyes right and left, Faramir said, "Well … a kiss might do … to start, that is … though I might want more. After all, it is a very juicy strawberry."

"Ah … I think I can manage a kiss … perhaps more than one." Pressing his mouth against Faramir's throat, Frodo nipped lightly.

As Faramir lowered his hand, Frodo sat back a little. The ruby prize gleamed between them. Faramir held the strawberry to Frodo's mouth and watched him bite into it, the juice dripping down his chin once more, sharp white teeth gleaming. When Faramir gestured to Frodo to eat the rest, Frodo shook his head.

"No … you finish it."

Faramir popped the remains of the strawberry in his mouth, its sweetness melting against his tongue as he chewed slowly. While he swallowed, Frodo grasped his hand and pulled his fingers into his mouth, licking away the sticky juice.

"Do I get my reward now?" Faramir asked, his eyes gleaming as he cupped the back of Frodo's head with his palm and pulled him close.

"Mmm hmm," Frodo murmured, his mouth opening to Faramir in a strawberry-scented kiss. His mouth always opened to Faramir, even with that first kiss when Faramir had run away so cowardly. How foolish he had been to run away when such sweetness was there for him. Faramir knew he could never give it up willingly.

So engrossed were they in their kiss that neither Frodo nor Faramir heard the quiet knocking at the door or the soft footsteps padding into the room. It was only when the intruder cleared his throat that they sprang apart, both of them flushing quickly.

Gandalf chuckled. "Sorry for the interruption … thought I might find you here, Frodo. Did you two sleep well?" he asked innocently, bushy eyebrows raised.

When neither of them said anything, just looked at each other helplessly, Gandalf laughed again and said, "I thought as much. You two look like a pair of hobbit children caught stealing mushrooms. Are you sure you're not part hobbit, Faramir?"

Frodo and Faramir relaxed and joined Gandalf in his laughter. Sitting at the table with them, Gandalf helped himself to the remnants of their late breakfast, not that there was much left to eat. Faramir beamed when he felt Frodo relaxing against him, nuzzling his shoulder.

"Happy?" Gandalf asked.

Looking down at Frodo's contented face, Faramir nodded and smiled at Gandalf. "Yes … very."

"Good. Faramir, I hate to drag you way, but an emissary from Umbar has arrived. He's to meet with Aragorn in a couple of hours. I think you'll be interested in what he has to propose. Will you come?"

"Yes, of course. Come with me, Frodo?"

"No, I'll stay here if it's all right."

"Of course."

Standing up, Gandalf stretched and looked down at them fondly. "I'll leave you now to … well … I'll see you in a few hours … in Aragorn's throne room." Walking quickly through the room, Gandalf paused at the door, but he had already been forgotten.

* * *

Chapter 12

Gandalf walked quickly through the halls of the Tower of Ecthelion on his way to Aragorn's rooms, oblivious to the fine stonework and figured hangings that decorated the way. This was unusual for him ever since the Ring had been destroyed. Normally, he walked slowly, taking his time to linger by a particularly interesting tapestry or run his hands over a statue's smooth marble. Today, though, he had no thought for the past glories of Gondor. The dilemma that had met his eyes in Faramir's room pressed too closely.

How happy Frodo and Faramir had looked together. The light in their eyes had said everything--the struggle banished, at least for now. Gandalf believed with all his heart that the two deserved all the joy they could find in each other. They had been through so much suffering, it seemed only right that they find happiness in full measure. Sighing, Gandalf shook his head at the quirk of fate that had brought them together.

Gandalf's footsteps slowed as he drew near to Aragorn's rooms--the King's rooms, so long unused. He was unsure about whether to say anything to Aragorn about the situation between Frodo and Faramir. After his promise to Faramir, it seemed to him that telling Aragorn would mean breaking his word not to interfere any longer. But, didn't Aragorn deserve to know what was happening in his realm, especially considering the possible consequences?

It did not seem likely that Frodo and Faramir's relationship could last long. Surely it would not; their differences were too great to sustain a long-lasting bond. All he had to do was keep silent, and the problem would disappear when they parted--assuming they parted, that is. What would happen if they refused to end it, as surely they must, if only for the sake of the alliance between Gondor and Rohan?

Arriving at Aragorn's rooms, Gandalf knocked once and entered. He found Aragorn seated at a table, eating a simple lunch.

Aragorn looked up at Gandalf's entry. "Just the person I wanted to see. Join me?"

"No, thank you … perhaps later." Motioning to Aragorn to continue his meal, Gandalf wandered around the room restlessly, stroking the furnishings' fine silks and velvets with absent-minded fingers.

Aragorn's quiet voice broke in on his thoughts. "You look worried. May I help?"

"I don't know." Gandalf shrugged.

"Tell me. It is not like you to be unsure." Aragorn smiled and raised his eyebrows. "That's not something I've often seen."

"It's not something I've encountered before."

"Tell me."

Ceasing his aimless pacing, Gandalf stopped at the window where he and Frodo had stood last night waiting for the storm to break. "I spoke with Faramir. He will be here for the audience with the Umbar emissary."

"Good … though not, I think, what is bothering you. Will you not open your mind to me, my old friend?"

Gandalf laughed shortly. "I told Faramir I wouldn't interfere any longer … that it's not my place to do so."

"Now you're speaking in riddles again. Come … speak plainly to me."

Gandalf stood quietly looking out on the field of Pellenor laid out in the clear sunshine. He nodded his head once and turned. "Frodo stayed last night after playing chess with Faramir."

His brows contracted, Aragorn said, "Yes, of course he did … as we decided."

"What I mean is … he stayed with Faramir."

"Ah … I had wondered if there was something between them."

"They resisted … that is, Faramir resisted … until last night."

"You've seen them together, I take it?"

"Yes, I've just come from Faramir's rooms … they were having a late breakfast … Frodo sitting on his lap. They are very happy."

Gandalf looked into Aragorn's eyes and saw the sadness that he felt reflected in the King's steady gaze.

"What will they do now?" Aragorn asked softly.

"I don't know … didn't ask. I doubt they even know yet." Gandalf quirked his mouth into a rueful grin. "After all, they've just come together after many days of denying themselves. And perhaps I'm worrying needlessly … it is possible that their desire will burn out quickly."

"Do you believe that will happen? After all, you're the one who has been around them when they've been together. What say you?" Aragorn asked.

"That my notion that their desire will disappear quickly is just that … a notion. There is a bond between them that is very strong. They understand each other even though they've not known each other long."

Aragorn sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "It's not so easy, is it … even with our enemies defeated? Don't know why I thought it would be."

"What will you do if they refuse to part?"

Aragorn leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. He looked down while he contemplated Gandalf's question. "I don't know … truly I don't. Rohan is our dearest ally. Marriage between Faramir and Eowyn will seal our alliance. It would grieve me to hurt Frodo … Faramir, too … but …"

"You have more in your care than the happiness of one hobbit and one man, as much as you feel for them," Gandalf said in his gentlest voice.

Aragorn looked up, his gray eyes darkened with uncertainty. Standing up, he joined Gandalf at the window and looked out at the field. When he spoke, his words came hesitantly. "Yes, exactly … but … it's more than that. Where can they go if they will not part? The Shire? Men don't live there … it is in my mind to issue an edict forbidding men to dwell within its borders. Could Frodo live in Ithilien … could anyone, even Faramir, ask him in good conscience to go back there? Though settling in Ithilien is a moot point if they stay together … I doubt I could allow that … as much as it pains me to say it. I must think of Eowyn as well … our good relations with Rohan must remain."

They stood quietly at the window. It seemed to Gandalf that, though the sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, the day had darkened.

Finally, he asked, "Will you speak with them?"

"Yes … I must. Though I hope they will come to me first … they deserve that chance, and I will give it to them." Turning to Gandalf, Aragorn smiled thinly. "And … like you say … they may well end it of their own accord. They know their duty well."

"Yes … of course."

* * *

Frodo lay dozing on the bed, the burgundy covers soft beneath his hands and feet. He still wore the white bathrobe, its faint scent of Faramir cocooning him. Shifting a little, he smiled at the soreness that reminded him of what he and Faramir had done all through the long night. He had lain on the bed ever since Faramir had left for his meeting with Aragorn and the Umbar envoy. While he had slept a little, mostly he had just lain there and let his thoughts drift--very pleasant thoughts, indeed. He had taken an inventory of his little aches and pains--the patches of scraped skin on his thighs, the sore spot on his throat--each one cherished and carefully analyzed.

When he heard the door open and quiet footsteps come into the room, he smiled but didn't open his eyes. He knew those footsteps--had learned their graceful rhythm. The mattress creaked a little when Faramir sat down next to him. Still, he didn't open his eyes, just widened his smile and raised his head for a kiss. Faramir's soft lips touched him lightly on his forehead, the tip of his nose, his smiling mouth that opened in welcome.

Frodo finally opened his eyes when Faramir drew back. There was a sparkle of anticipation in Faramir's eyes. Frodo said, "You look excited … what is it?"

"Well, I'm with you, aren't I?"

Frodo punched Faramir in the arm, his knuckles no more than a grazing caress. "That's not what I meant … as you well know. What is it?"

"The man from Umbar was interesting."

"Oh … how?"

"He wants Aragorn to send a sort of ambassador to live there … for us to establish good trade relations now that there is peace. It has been many years since Gondor and Umbar were friendly."

Frodo nodded his head. "That's good."

"Yes … and I've been thinking. We can't stay in Gondor if we stay together … if I break my troth to Eowyn. I wouldn't even dream of asking Aragorn … couldn't go to Ithilien either. Anyway … I could never ask you to go back there and live … wouldn't be fair. But, maybe …"

Frodo sat up, gripping the velvet covers with his hands. "What? You … go to Umbar? Did you ask Aragorn … does he know about us?"

Shaking his head, Faramir stroked Frodo's cheek. "No … no … of course not. I would not say anything without talking with you first. That is, I don't think he knows … though of course Mithrandir might have said something to him … probably would. I wouldn't blame him if he has."

Faramir lay down next to Frodo, pulling him to his chest and holding him tight. Snuggling closer, Frodo rested his head on Faramir's shoulder and listened to his eager voice. "It could work. Even if I couldn't go there as Aragorn's ambassador … he might not want that and I wouldn't blame him. Even if I couldn't go that way, perhaps something else could be figured out … there could be something else I could do there. It would be far enough from here … I think."

Frodo leaned up and kissed the corners of Faramir's mouth--tried to show Faramir all his tenderness through his lips. "You would do that for me … give up Ithilien and … and Eowyn? I know you care for her."

Faramir nodded, his gray eyes darkening. "Yes … I do."

"It would hurt her … I don't want to be the cause of that."

"Is it not a little late for that? Even if you and I end this and go our separate ways, she would know … I would have to tell her."

"Why? What use would that be except to hurt her?" Frodo clenched his hands in Faramir's sleeve in his distress.

"I owe her my honesty … how could I not tell her … even if it meant she might break our engagement." Faramir closed his hand atop Frodo's clenched fingers. They stared at each other for a long minute, both of them barely daring to breathe. Finally, Faramir spoke slowly. "This is useless conjecture. One way or another, she will know about us. Do you think I could give you up now? Will you … will you go with me if I can find the way?"

"Yes."

"It would mean not going back to the Shire for much longer than you had expected … though I promise I will take you there some day … sooner than later, I hope. But if you come with me, you will be away from everyone you know."

"So will you," Frodo said softly.

"Yet you will come?"

"Yes."

"Then it's settled," Faramir said lightly. "I will speak with Aragorn tomorrow."

"No … we will speak with Aragorn."

Faramir smiled and nuzzled Frodo's neck. "Of course … forgive me."

Frodo lay quietly in Faramir's arms, hope filling him that a way would be found. Glancing toward the open window, he saw the light dimming as evening approached. "It's getting on toward dinner time. Are you hungry?" he asked.

Faramir pulled back and drew his hands to the sash tied around Frodo's waist, unknotting it quickly and sliding his hands around Frodo's naked back. "Yes."

* * *

Chapter 13

They were a little nervous--more than a little nervous as they sat in the courtyard waiting to be called to Aragorn's throne room. Frodo tried to relax in the warm summer afternoon, but it was hard. They said little to each other--no more than quick reassurances spoken with mouths dry from anxiety.

"Are you sure?" Frodo asked.

"Yes," said Faramir, a quick smile flashing across his face though he plucked restlessly at his formal robe. "And you?"

"Oh … yes."

A sudden laugh broke in on their privacy--high-pitched, a laugh with nothing but joy in it, no cares or worries in that merry tone. Faramir's face lit up briefly.

"Who is it?" asked Frodo, watching Faramir carefully.

"Rian … the little girl I told you of." Faramir leaned toward Frodo and nudged him with his arm, speaking out of one side of his mouth. "She'll probably be quite irritated with me … I promised I'd arrange for her to meet you."

"Don't worry … I'll protect you." Frodo grinned, amused at the quick look of alarm that had spread over Faramir's face. "Ah … here she comes."

Rian appeared around the corner but stopped and shouted back to someone. "I'll be here … don't be too long!"

Turning toward the courtyard, she ran full tilt across the lawn, long braids of wheat-colored hair bouncing behind her. "Oh!" She ground to a quick halt a few paces from the bench, her feet sliding a little in the grass.

"Good afternoon, Rian," Faramir said. "It's good to see you again."

Her clear eyes widened as they fixed on Frodo curiously and with what looked a little bit like awe. Frodo said, "Won't you join us? Faramir has told me about you. I'm sorry I haven't been able to meet you sooner. I'm Frodo." He smiled at the girl and gestured at the bench. Rian nodded and drew closer, still silent, seating herself carefully beside Frodo.

When Frodo smiled at her encouragingly, she found her voice. "Are you feeling better? Prince Faramir told me you were ill."

"Oh, yes … much better, thank you."

Recovering her composure more fully, she nodded toward Faramir with a grimace that screwed up her face so charmingly and made Frodo want to laugh. "He said he'd take me to visit you … I had ever so many funny stories to tell you to cheer you up."

"My pardon, Rian … I'm afraid I forgot," said Faramir, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands out palms up.

"Hmph."

"Perhaps you'll still come see me. I always like to hear a good story even if I'm not ill … so do my friends. You'll like them, I think," said Frodo.

Rian's face brightened. "Thank you! I'd like that."

"Good."

The three sat quietly together for a minute, Rian sneaking quick looks at Frodo. Both Frodo and Rian swung their legs back and forth a little, their feet dangling off the ground. Rian laughed. "Look … our feet are the same distance from the ground … though … er … yours are so much bigger than mine. Do all hobbits have such enormous feet?"

Faramir chuckled. "Yes … they do … don't see how they manage to walk around without tripping over them."

While both Rian and Faramir roared with laughter, Frodo shook his head. "I'll have you know our feet are very practical … we've no need to worry about covering them up with hot, stiff leather the way you people must." He shuddered in mock disgust.

When a Guard appeared to let Frodo and Faramir know that Aragorn was ready to receive them, Frodo felt a pang of returning anxiety that Rian's cheerful face had banished for a few minutes. "Ah … we must go now. But we'll see you soon, I'm sure," said Faramir.

"All right … I have that lay memorized."

"Then we shall enjoy hearing a performance of it … perhaps when you come visit Frodo."

Frodo stroked Rian's hair as he and Faramir stood up. "Goodbye for now," he said. They started walking away, moving toward the Tower.

"Prince Faramir?"

They turned around to see Rian standing by the bench, her eyes shining. "You were right … what you said before … you know."

Faramir smiled fondly. "I know."

Walking into the Tower, Frodo asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing much … just something I told her about you when I first met her."

"Well, that's mysterious."

Faramir caressed Frodo's cheek lightly. "I'll tell you later … you'll like it, I think."

* * *

Walking into the hall from the bright sunshine, Frodo blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. While he had spent time in Aragorn and Faramir's rooms, this was the first time he had approached the throne room of Gondor. The passageway was broad and long, the stone paving cool under his feet. The only sound came from the clatter of Faramir's boots and Frodo's racing heart that seemed to beat a tattoo in time with Faramir's quick strides.

At the end of the hallway, they came to a door--and such as door as Frodo had never seen. Door seemed too poor a word to describe its height and breadth. It was formed of a polished metal that gleamed dully with a bronze glow. Frodo stood in front of it, breathing rapidly, his stomach seemingly turning somersaults. When he felt Faramir's hand on his shoulder, he looked up.

"Are you ready?" Faramir asked softly, a small smile curving his lips.

Frodo nodded, his voice gone. How foolish he was to be so nervous. When had Aragorn ever harmed him, from the first moment in Bree when he had seemed so alarming and yet had turned out to be his staunchest friend and protector?

When the doors began to open silently inward, Frodo started in surprise. Neither he nor Faramir had knocked, and there was no door ward outside. Frodo looked into the hall that seemed a mile long.

"Come on." Faramir gave him a little push.

Gulping once, Frodo walked into the throne room, Faramir's steps slow and steady at his side. Great pillars of polished black stone marched down the room's length. Casting his eyes right and left, Frodo saw frowning statues set between the columns--figures akin to those he had seen at the Argonath. Surely, these were the long-dead Kings of Gondor, their faces so like to Aragorn and Faramir in strength and wisdom. He looked straight ahead and saw a dais at the end of the room. It did not seem possible that his small footsteps would ever bring him there; he would walk for hours and never arrive.

A man stood beneath the dais, speaking to the King. The King--his friend, Strider. No, not Strider--it was Elessar sitting on his high throne, the winged Crown of Gondor fitted on his head as though it had always been there.

As they drew nearer to the dais, Frodo saw the man bow low and back away a few paces before turning. Walking toward them, the man's face broke into a smile of greeting to Faramir. He had a swarthy complexion, with long black hair pulled back severely and fastened with a small tie, a small golden earring flashing from one ear. Coming closer, he spoke a word of greeting to Faramir but did not stop except to cast a curious look at Frodo, black eyes sparkling with interest.

"The envoy from Umbar," Faramir whispered.

Frodo nodded, the strange man already forgotten as he and Faramir arrived at the base of the dais. Now that they were there, he had eyes only for Aragorn--an Aragorn who looked so stern and kingly, sitting so high above him that it seemed he could never reach him again. How foolish they had been to even think of coming here with their small problem, their miniscule desires. Aragorn had much more important things to do than consider the needs of one insignificant hobbit who could make so much trouble for Gondor.

When Frodo looked up at Aragorn, his heart melted. Aragorn smiled at him--smiled at him the way he had always done, with such fondness that tears started in his eyes. Yes, Aragorn had become Elessar the King, but Strider had not gone away, had just evolved into Telcontar. Whatever his name--Frodo thought ruefully how many names this dear man had--he would always be the Strider who had cared for him from the first minute they had met so many months ago at the Prancing Pony.

Aragorn stood up and greeted them with a conspiratorial wink. "Let us get out of here and go to my rooms to talk. This room is a little too grand for a talk between good friends."

Stepping quickly down the broad stairs of the dais, Aragorn led them out a back door into a hallway. As soon as he exited the throne room, he removed his crown with a groan. "I don't mean to complain … but this thing is terribly heavy." He rubbed his forehead, smoothing out creases made by the heavy weight.

Frodo smiled, remembering its heaviness in his hands as he had carried it to Gandalf. He and Faramir followed quickly after Aragorn, Faramir's hand reassuring on Frodo's shoulder and a smile on his face.

"It will be all right," thought Frodo. "Surely it will be all right."

* * *

Chapter 14

Aragorn held the crown in his hands, nervously running his fingers along its smooth, polished curves. His mouth felt dry, though he told himself sternly that he was merely going to have an honest conversation between dear friends. There was nothing to be worried about--that is, assuming he could find the right words.

When he glanced back, he saw Frodo looking up into Faramir's face. The expression on Frodo's face struck him in the heart like the quick stab of a blade coming at him unawares. This was not a look Aragorn had seen before, Frodo's clear eyes soft with trust and hope--and love. Faramir returned the look in full measure, and not only with his eyes; the entire set of his body curved toward Frodo tenderly. Aragorn flushed a little as he turned his head to face forward again, though there was no need; they had not noticed him.

Arriving at Aragorn's rooms, the door ward standing guard threw open the doors and nodded in assent when Aragorn asked him to bring them wine and sweet cakes. Aragorn held out his hand, motioning for Faramir and Frodo to enter. The sitting room was bright with the clear light of day streaming in through high windows.

"Please sit … make yourselves comfortable," Aragorn said, growing even more nervous now that they had arrived. What in Middle Earth was he going to say to them? He was no counselor to lovers in need of words of wisdom and help. Why had he not thought to have Gandalf here with him? Confront him with a company of orcs, and he knew his path, straight and clean as Anduril could cleave. But this … He ran his hands distractedly through his hair, casting about for some way to begin.

There was a large hearth along one wall. Frodo and Faramir sat on one of the couches grouped around it. Aragorn noticed that the two were studiously careful not to sit too close together, instead keeping a discreet distance between them. His anxiety dissipated a little as he watched them shooting little glances at each other, trying unsuccessfully to keep their heads turned in the opposite direction. Grinning at their dissembling bodies, Aragorn relaxed and realized that if he was nervous, how much more anxious they must be feeling. Though the upcoming conversation was sure to be difficult for all of them, he must try to put them at their ease, even if just for a minute.

Aragorn said softly, "It's all right … when I said make yourselves comfortable, I meant it …don't feel you have to sit so far away from each other … I do know … about … well … I know."

"Gandalf?" Faramir asked.

"Yes … though I had to drag it out of him the other day. He is worried about not interfering too much … said he had promised you he would not."

Faramir smiled briefly and replied, "It's all right … I understand, it was his duty to tell you ... anyway, I just took his promise to mean that he would not interfere any longer between Frodo and me directly … certainly not that he wouldn't say anything to you."

Aragorn nodded and raised an eyebrow. "Well? You still don't look very comfortable."

Frodo cast Aragorn a grateful look, blushing lightly. When Faramir put out his arm and drew Frodo close, Frodo drew his legs under him and curled himself against Faramir's side. Aragorn stood at the hearth watching them settle. In truth, they were a little lost in each other again, their hands stroking until Faramir closed his around Frodo's furled fist.

Though Aragorn would have preferred to just watch the two snuggle together--talk with them about the weather or the harvest prospects or anything else under the sun--they were gathered together for one reason. Aragorn steeled himself to his task and knelt down in front of Frodo, looking him in the eye. Frodo's eyes were so clear and open to him, with a yearning that was so easy to read. How could Aragorn hurt the one who least deserved it of all living creatures in Middle Earth? Surely, a way could be found.

Aragorn reached out his hand and traced the line of Frodo's cheek, smoothing a stray curl from his eyes. Frodo smiled back at him with such limpid sweetness and trust that Aragorn almost groaned out loud. How had Aragorn deserved so much trust, given so quickly when they had met in Bree and there had been little reason for it? And he had seen it again, when Frodo had awoken at the Field of Cormallen and had been so gaunt and injured, his task completed but at such a cost. Aragorn sighed, remembering the unwavering trust in Frodo's waking eyes. Would that faith disappear forever with the words that he might have to say?

There came a quick knock at the door. Aragorn straightened up and walked across the room, throwing open the door. As he did so, Frodo moved away from Faramir, straightening his clothes. A servant entered carrying a tray--crystal decanter of cool white wine, sweet cakes, goblets. After the servant placed the tray on a table near the sitting area, he bowed and left, Aragorn smiling his thanks.

Aragorn poured the wine and brought the glasses to Frodo and Faramir. They did not drink, rather waited for Aragorn to come back with his glass and the plate of cakes. None of them took any food, though Frodo did give the cakes a quick but thorough appraisal.

Pulling a chair close to them, Aragorn sat down. He held out his wine glass to them and said, "Shall we drink to a happy solution to the … er … situation that faces us?"

Frodo and Faramir glanced at each other and turned back to the Aragorn, clinking their glasses with his. They all drank a little, sipping at the cool wine. No one spoke, all three just looking into their glasses. When Frodo drew close to Faramir again and leaned against him, Faramir wrapped his arm around him possessively and dropped a kiss on top of his head.

Finally--there being no way around it--Aragorn cleared and his throat and spoke. "As pleasant as it is to sit here and drink wine, that's not why we three are here, is it? Thank you for coming to me … I appreciate that more than I can say. And now …what is to be done? Have you thought on it?"

Faramir answered. "Yes … that is why we wanted to talk with you. I do have an idea. I know that I can't stay in Minas Tirith if Frodo and I stay together … or go to Ithilien. Couldn't take Frodo to Ithilien any way … I would not ask that of him."

"No, indeed," Aragorn murmured, struggling to make his voice as gentle as he could. "And … as much as it grieves me to say it, I agree that there would be difficulties with your staying here or going to Ithilien … given your betrothal."

"Yes … of course. I would not expect to."

Aragorn smiled, trying to look reassuring though he winced inside at the strain surfacing in Frodo's eyes. "Tell me your idea, Faramir."

"You need someone to go to Umbar … to help rebuild our relations. I could do that … take Frodo there with me."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, I do need someone to do that … and it is a very important assignment. It will be more than the mere matter of building trade relations … after all, Umbar was once part of Gondor."

"It was?" Frodo sounded surprised. "I did not know that."

Faramir said, "Oh, yes … and it would be within Aragorn's rights to reclaim it … though I doubt he wants to regain the territory that way."

"Right you are," said Aragorn. "War is the last thing in my mind … though the more peaceful way might take longer to effect. I do not wish to go there as a conqueror … to stand as an enemy at the headland where the Globe of Pharazon once stood."

"Pharazon … he was a King of Numenor, wasn't he?" Frodo asked.

"Yes … the last one before its fall," answered Aragorn. "He set sail with a great armada to challenge the might of Sauron … landed at Umbar. There was a tall white pillar with a crystal globe set atop it that was placed upon the highest hill of the headland above the Haven of Umbar … Pharazon's Globe. It shone so brightly that it could be seen from many miles away, even on the coasts of Gondor. It was cast down many years ago when Umbar broke away from Gondor. I know it is foolish … but I dream of finding it again and raising it once more to watch over the headland." He laughed shortly. "But there … I am getting us off track a little. Forgive me."

Faramir asked, "Have you spoken to the envoy of your real aim?"

Aragorn smiled wryly. "Not in so many words … though he has hinted at more than trade relations … spoke to me of an alliance between long-parted kin. I think the possibility is there … but it is very delicate. Which is why I need to send someone I trust completely … someone like you, Faramir, I must admit."

"Then you agree?"

"I must think on it some … and discuss it with Gandalf. I hope you understand. Also, I must speak with the envoy and let him know the reason for your coming there. If he is against it, I will not push it … as much as I would like to help you."

"I understand."

Aragorn watched Frodo and Faramir silently for a few minutes. He saw how they both were more relaxed, the set of their heads not so stiff and anxious. Finally, he spoke abruptly. "Are you sure of this? Are you sure of your affection for each other? I'm sorry, but I must know."

"Yes," said Faramir and Frodo together.

Frodo said, "I'm sorry, Aragorn … I'm still your burden, aren't I?"

When Aragorn spoke, his voice was harsh though he did not mean it so. "Never … never that … you cannot understand how much it grieves me that there is no simple solution to the attachment you have formed. Frodo … I would do anything to ensure your happiness … but I have other things to consider … it gives me no pleasure to say so."

"I know. Thank you," said Frodo softly.

Aragorn nodded and smiled thinly. "Frodo … I would like to speak with Faramir alone. Would you mind leaving us for a bit?"

Faramir spoke up immediately, his voice sharp. "There is nothing you have to say that Frodo cannot hear … nothing that I will not tell him."

Frodo nuzzled Faramir's throat. "It's all right … I understand. I will wait for you in the courtyard."

Frodo stood up and walked to Aragorn. He threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly before straightening up. "Thank you for understanding." Walking quickly to the door, he turned and said, "I'll be in the courtyard."

* * *

Chapter 15

Faramir watched Aragorn stand up and walk across the room. The King poured himself more wine and stood looking out the window, draining the goblet in one long pull. When Aragorn made no move to rejoin him, Faramir began to grow a little nervous again. The ease he had felt while Frodo had been there and Aragorn's voice had been so gentle slipped away. He shook himself mentally. Aragorn was his King and had their best interests at heart. He was going to help them; he had said it in so many words.

When Aragorn turned around, Faramir started at the look in Aragorn's eyes, its previous gentleness fled. In truth, Faramir did not know how to read the expression in Aragorn's hooded eyes.

Aragorn's voice was very soft when he finally spoke. "There were some things that I did not feel I could say while Frodo was here."

"Say them now."

Aragorn looked down at the empty glass in his hand. Placing it carefully on a table, he said, "Rather sudden, wouldn't you say … your love for Frodo … if love it is." Aragorn raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Faramir said nothing in reply, just gripped the arm of the couch tightly and clenched his jaw. Thoughts whirled in his head--angry retorts that refused to form into coherent words. When he moved to say something--anything, Aragorn held up his hand in warning.

"I know you both said just now that you are certain of your feelings for each other … apparently sure enough to break your faith with Eowyn and possibly destroy our alliance with Rohan. Given that, I ask you again. Are you sure of what you want? Or is this just some physical desire that will burn out as quickly as it flared … leaving us all out in the cold?"

Faramir whispered, "No … no …"

"Do you know what you are doing? Leave aside the implications with Rohan … keeping only Frodo in mind, that is. I promise you that I will break you in half if you are toying with Frodo. If you thought battling the Enemy all these long years was painful … well …you will learn differently if you hurt Frodo. And believe me … I will know how to break you … do not forget that I am your liege lord and have the authority to command you where and how I choose."

Faramir saw red--thought for a split second that a sort of red glow blurred his vision of Aragorn standing so sternly before him. He jumped up, his hands clenched at his sides. "Forget! When have I ever done that in my life? When have I ever not done exactly as I have been ordered by my liege lord?" Faramir stopped a minute, catching his breath, trying to control the anger that had flared up at Aragorn's taunting. "No matter who my lord was … you … or my father, a much harsher taskmaster than you regardless of your threats."

Pacing back and forth restlessly, Faramir shook his head and laughed a little to himself. "Shall I tell you how many times I have disobeyed orders or gone against my 'honor' … how many times I have done that in my life?" Stopping, he stood straight and glared at Aragorn.

"Tell me," Aragorn murmured, his dark eyes glinting.

"Twice … can you guess when?"

Aragorn grimaced, his mouth a tight line with the edges curved up slightly. "Yes, I think I can. When you let Frodo and Sam continue on their journey in Ithilien … did not force them to Minas Tirith to come before Denethor. And now … as you contemplate breaking your troth with Eowyn. Have I guessed aright?"

Faramir fairly spit out his words. "Yes. I have spent my whole life doing my duty. Am I to be bound to it forever? May I not have what I want even once? No … not what I want … what I need … who I need."

"I don't recall anyone ordering you to marry Eowyn. Or am I misinformed?" asked Aragorn mildly, gesturing with his palm held out.

Faramir felt like his whole body was shrinking as all the heat in him died down. He looked at the floor, unable to meet Aragorn's clear gaze, and shook his head. "No … you are right."

"So I am also right in thinking you had … have … feelings for her as well?"

"Yes."

"Can you put a name to these feelings?"

Faramir shrugged helplessly. "I … I love her … I do. Thought I would be happy with her … but …"

"But not now," Aragorn finished gently.

"I don't want to hurt her … she does not deserve that. Or Frodo …"

"And so you are torn? Tell me … are you just doing this for Frodo … for what he wants?"

"No! This is not his doing. I was the one who brought it up. He … he even argued with me about telling her about us if he and I end up parting … thinks it's unnecessarily cruel."

Aragorn smiled, one corner of his mouth quirked up fondly. "Yes … I believe he would. So … you love them both but you choose Frodo … even knowing what the consequences might be."

Faramir looked Aragorn straight in the eye. "Yes … even if I never see Gondor or Ithilien again … I choose him. I love him … he is my heart."

"Very well, then … you have chosen."

"And?"

Aragorn walked to Faramir and took him gently by the shoulders. "And I will help you the best way I can." Faramir staggered a little, Aragorn's strong hands bracing him as he went limp. "Just as I promised … did you think I would not?"

"Well …" Faramir laughed shortly and dashed his hand against his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat he had not realized had formed. "At first I did … when Frodo was here … then … the way you spoke just now." He shrugged. "I did not know."

Aragorn said softly, "I know I spoke harshly to you just now … but I had to test you. This is not an easy road you are choosing … and I'm not just speaking of Eowyn and Rohan now. You and Frodo are very different."

"No … you are wrong … we are alike … so alike … sometimes it takes my breath away."

"Yes, in your hearts and minds you are … I believe you … have seen it with my own eyes. But your backgrounds are very different. It will not be easy for either of you. You will be alone together much more than would normally be the case … especially if you leave Gondor, as I suspect you must … though not forever, surely."

"To be alone with Frodo is not exactly a punishment to me."

"No, indeed."

Though relief had washed through Faramir when Aragorn had spoken of his support, Faramir felt a little shy. Truth to tell, he did not know Aragorn very well--was just beginning to learn his ways. "I thought for a minute there that you were going to throw me in a dungeon … clap me in chains."

Aragorn smiled broadly, one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Perhaps I should have … it crossed my mind to do so, believe me … until, that is, I realized what would happen if I did so."

"What do you mean?"

"Had I done that, Frodo would have come to me … and I would have let you out immediately. Do you think I could have denied him? He is very dear to me. Don't forget that I have tried to protect him since first I met him many months ago. I have had to make many difficult decisions in my life … but the hardest choice I ever made was when I left him and Sam to go to Mordor alone … not that he gave me much choice. He doesn't look it … but I don't believe I've ever met anyone as stubborn as he is … as I'm sure you've discovered yourself."

They laughed together easily for the first time since Frodo had left them. Faramir said, "Perhaps you should lock up both of us … in some distant tower away from the City … until we come to our senses."

Aragorn roared with laughter. "I did not think of that … it is an excellent idea … though, as I think on it, it seems unlikely that you would ever come to your senses but would look on your imprisonment as a sort of unending holiday. Then, we would never see you again, which would make us all very sad. So, I will just have to send you to Umbar instead … that shall serve as your exile. Though … truly … it will give you and Frodo time together … more time to understand if you can stay together."

Faramir felt hope fill him at Aragorn's easy assertion that he and Frodo would go to Umbar. "Then you think it likely that the envoy will agree to my coming there … Frodo with me?"

"Yes … the more I think on it, the better I like the idea. I will speak to him this evening. Then … assuming all goes well, that is … and I believe it will … I want you to meet with him. Though he will be leaving in the next day or so … perhaps you might accompany him a couple of days on his journey home. You could discuss things more fully with him … do some planning. Also, I would like Frodo to meet with him before he leaves … give him a glimpse of Umbar, as it were."

Faramir felt a little dizzy. "You really are going to help us, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I just needed to be more sure of your feelings and intentions. How I wish there was an easy way for you. You have been a loyal and honorable man all of your life … this is not easy for you, I know … there is no simple solution here … someone is going to get hurt."

"I know. Thank you."

"But I am sure of you now … and will support you in any way I can." Aragorn walked to the window and looked out. Faramir thought he looked uneasy again.

"What is it?" Faramir asked.

"May I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course." Faramir grinned. "You have not exactly been shy before."

"No … I've not. Have … have you written to Eowyn of your feelings for Frodo?"

"No … not yet … have thought of it … but have not gotten that far."

"Then do nothing just yet. Give this a little more time … just to please me, if for no other reason. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. And now … I think Frodo must be getting restless waiting for you in the courtyard."

Faramir bowed. "Thank you again. Your support means much to me … to Frodo as well."

Aragorn waved his hand. "I will do what I can … as best I can with what I see as my obligations."

"Obligations?"

"Yes … I see three … Gondor, Frodo, you."

"Of course. I understand … except ..."

"Except what?"

"Why do you not just order me to break with Frodo?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I have thought of that … cannot do it … though I should. I have my own dreams and desires, too … my own happiness that I long for."

"Surely you have that now?"

"Most … but not all … I still wait for the most important part." Aragorn stood still, looking across the room but not really seeing it, or so it appeared to Faramir. It seemed to Faramir that Aragorn had left him and walked in some distance place and time. No, he did not know this man, though he trusted him completely.

Coming out of his reverie, Aragorn shook his head and smiled, making no further reference to his own longings. "Good. Off you go now. I will let you know of my talk with the envoy … will see you tomorrow. Enjoy your evening."

Faramir bowed again and moved toward the door. Stopping, he turned back and said, "Thank you, my liege lord."

Aragorn nodded, his face impassive once more.


	4. Chapters 16-20

Chapter 16

On his way out of the room, he had thought he remembered. It had seemed so easy when they had come the other way. However, after wandering the corridors outside Aragorn's rooms for more than a few minutes, Frodo admitted to himself that he was lost. Surely this stairway had not been there before. Frodo grumbled a little to himself and plopped down on its lowest step. Someone would come along and point him in the right direction. Until then, he would sit and fume and wonder what Aragorn was saying to Faramir.

Before he had time to grow too restless, a servant appeared around the corner of the hallway, carrying an armful of fresh linens. Frodo jumped up as she approached.

He said, his cheeks reddening slightly, "Excuse me … can you show me the way out … toward the courtyard … can't seem to find my way."

The servant bowed and replied, "Of course, Master Perian."

They did not speak as the woman guided Frodo easily through the many twists and turns of the Tower's corridors. As they drew near to the door that would free him from this stony maze, Frodo smiled and gestured with his hand. "Ah … I can find my way from here." The upturn of his mouth froze momentarily when he saw the servant's eyes fixed on his hand, staring wide-eyed at the ugly gap. He quickly pulled his hand to his side, fingers curling tight. Mumbling a quick thanks, he turned away.

Frodo stepped outside into the bright sunlight and headed for the courtyard, his cheeks cooling as he pushed away the awkward moment. Now that he was free of the stone maze, he remembered why he had been sent away from Aragorn's rooms. Tension clutched again at his chest as he wondered what was passing between Aragorn and Faramir. He sighed, realizing there was nothing for it but to wait for Faramir.

Walking into the courtyard, Frodo saw that he would not be alone while he waited. He smiled when he spied Rian running on the green lawn, turning cartwheels, skirts whirling.

Frodo laughed and called out, "So you are an acrobat in addition to being a minstrel!"

Rian laughed in her turn, her clothes awry from her strenuous activity, her fair hair straggling loose from her braids. "Hello! Where is Prince Faramir?"

"He is still with the King. I am going wait for him here. Will you keep me company? Perhaps you might tell me some of your stories … or show me some more acrobatics."

Rian giggled. "All right … watch this." Frodo sat down on the bench and rested his eyes on the little girl tumbling with spirited grace until her cheeks were pink with exertion and she panted, out of breath. When his hand throbbed a little, he rubbed it, grimacing.

Frodo did not notice Rian approaching him, intent on the sudden pain that had come on him unawares--as it usually did these days. Rian cried, "Oh … your poor hand … does it hurt you much?"

"Just a little … sorry." Frodo hid his hand against his lap. "Don't look at it … terribly ugly, I know."

Looking hesitantly into Rian's eyes, Frodo grew amazed. The expression on her face had softened into a hint of the tenderness that she would possess when she was full grown. She sat next to Frodo and took his hand in hers, saying softly, "No, it's not … why … why … it's a badge of honor, I think. I don't think it's ugly at all … it's just a little gap, very neat and tidy. Makes you look distinctive … though of course you do any way." Her words had come out in a breathless rush. "Oh, I do talk too much, don't I?"

Frodo tightened his lips, trying not to cry at this unexpected gentle understanding. He had not realized anyone thought that way, remembering the servant in the hall. Instead, he had thought the people of Minas Tirith would look anywhere but at his hand if they didn't stare at it rudely--think him a monster for it. But if this little girl did not …

"Thank you." Frodo smiled tentatively, his lips barely curving. "Perhaps I am a little too sensitive about it."

Rian said nothing, just crooned softly as she stroked Frodo's hand, carefully running her fingers around his stump. Frodo felt the throbbing lessen under her gentle touch--such small fingers to be so healing.

They sat quietly together, hands clasped, acrobatics and funny stories forgotten. Frodo felt tiredness grip him, the tension of the day washing over him. He forgot the passing of time--was content with drifting--until he saw Faramir approach and gesture to him. When he saw how pale Faramir's face was, everything rushed back in on him.

"What's wrong?" Frodo asked, his brow knotted.

"Nothing … I am just a little tired." Faramir smiled at Rian and motioned to Frodo. "Come … let us go."

Frodo turned to look at Rian, who sat quietly at his side. "I will see you soon … still want to hear your stories." He hugged her quickly before rising and joining Faramir.

They walked toward the Tower, Rian's voice raised in carefree song behind them as she ran and tumbled again across the green grass of the courtyard of the white tree.

* * *

The click of the closing door seemed so loud in Frodo's ears--as loud as Faramir's footsteps clattering on the stone paving while they had walked quickly to Faramir's rooms. Though Frodo had started to ask Faramir what had passed between him and Aragorn, Faramir had silenced him with a caress of his cheek and a quick word. "Not now … wait."

Well, he had waited. And still, he waited in silence as Faramir shut the door and leaned against it, his shoulders slumped in tiredness. Frodo wanted to go to Faramir, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor. What had happened with Aragorn that had made Faramir so exhausted that he could not move away from the door?

Finally, Faramir raised his head and smiled at Frodo with a sweetness that went right to Frodo's heart. When Frodo shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, Faramir answered quietly, "It's all right. Nothing's wrong. It was just a little more difficult than I thought it would be."

"Why? What did he say to you?"

Faramir's eyes grew a little distant as if he was focusing on something far away. It made Frodo shiver, for Faramir had never absented himself like that before. It frightened Frodo.

With a quick shake of his head as he pulled himself from his brief reverie, Faramir laughed lightly. "I'm sorry. What did you say? I'm afraid I'm just a little tired out with hard questioning."

Frodo felt tears forming in his eyes, a hard lump in his throat. He asked, "What did Aragorn say to you?"

This time Faramir spoke easily. "Oh, not much really … more of the same … with just a little more force than when you were there … you know … one soldier to another." As he spoke, he walked to Frodo and dropped to his knees. He traced his thumb beneath Frodo's eyes, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. "It's all right," he whispered. "Don't cry. It's all right … he will help us. He told me so."

Frodo leaned against Faramir and let the man support him with long arms slung around his waist. When Faramir buried his head in Frodo's throat, Frodo wrapped his arms around Faramir's neck, his fingers seeking out tired muscles. They stood quietly for a minute, swaying a little.

"I guess I'm a little tired too," Frodo said. "It's been a long day."

"Yes. Come … let's lie down for awhile … sleep a little before we have dinner."

Faramir stood, his hands around Frodo's bottom, Frodo's head nestled on Faramir's shoulder while they moved quickly into the bedroom. Faramir climbed on to the bed and lay Frodo down gently. While he crawled around the bed, untying its curtains and pulling them closed, Frodo pulled the covers back and stripped off his clothes, tossing them on the floor. After Faramir pulled off his boots, he lay back against the covers and let Frodo undo his robe. He shrugged it off and pulled his leggings down, kicking everything away to the bottom of the bed. Pulling the covers up around them, he took Frodo in his arms.

They lay chest to chest, Frodo's legs wrapped around Faramir's waist. Faramir whispered, "Kiss … just kiss." Frodo opened his mouth to Faramir, soft mouth open to him, tongues stroking, lips sliding softly, so softly. The darkened air around them warmed from their touch until all Frodo's tension drained away and there was nothing but their kiss. Long minutes passed, and still their mouths pressed close, so close it seemed to Frodo that not even when Faramir filled him in the night had they been bound so tight together.

Finally--Frodo had no idea how much time had passed--Faramir pulled his mouth from Frodo's and nuzzled into Frodo's throat. He spoke with a voice clouded with sleep, muffled against a mouthful of Frodo's skin. "Aragorn is going to speak with the envoy tonight … tell him what we want to do. He thinks it will go well."

Frodo tightened his arms around Faramir's neck, cradling his lover's head in his sheltering hands. He rubbed his cheek against Faramir's hair, a silky rasp against his skin. "Good ... good. Sleep now." He rolled onto his back, pulling Faramir with him, rocking a little as he soothed Faramir with gentle hands. Faramir mumbled something unintelligible, his breath warm against Frodo's neck. "Sshh … sleep now," Frodo whispered.

After a few minutes, Frodo knew from Faramir's even breathing that he slept. Though he had so many thoughts whirling in his head--after all, Faramir had said very little of what had been said between him and Aragorn--they jumbled around in his tired brain, refusing to coalesce into coherence. Instead, sleep drew him down. Slowly, he paced himself to match Faramir's steady breathing. Eventually, he slept.

* * *

Frodo thought for a second that the cool sheets woke him with the emptiness beside him. A soft moan made him realize otherwise. Sliding over, he found Faramir curled at the edge of the bed, his body trembling. Frodo propped himself on his elbow and listened.

"No … don't … leave her alone, I say … no …"

Taking Faramir by the shoulder, Frodo shook him lightly. Faramir jerked and bolted upright, breathing heavily. "What … what's happening?" Faramir gasped.

"Nothing … you were dreaming … a nightmare," Frodo said.

Faramir sank back against the sheets, pulling Frodo to him and pillowing his head on his shoulder. His hands still shook slightly as he rubbed Frodo's back. "Sorry … always think they've gone away …"

"It's all right … tell me."

"I … it … something about the battle on the Pellenor … I can't remember. It's gone again."

"Sshh … it's all right. Sleep again. I'm here."

"I know." Faramir tightened his arms around Frodo's back. "You won't leave me, will you?"

Frodo started to say, "No … of course not," but Faramir's mouth on his stopped his words. This time--not like before--Faramir's mouth was hard and demanding. Frodo gave himself up to Faramir, his worries melting away under Faramir's claiming kisses. They did not sleep again for many long minutes as the wanting rose up and claimed them both.

* * *

Chapter 17

"Oh, no thank you … I've had too much already." Frodo covered the glass with his hand as Hallas, the Umbar envoy, moved to pour him more of the dark red wine. The man had brought the wine as a gift for Frodo, and they had all savored its musky, fruity taste during dinner. Truly, it had gone to Frodo's head more than a little, for he had never tasted such a wine. It went down so smoothly, with a slight aftertaste of plum and something a little spicy he could not put a name to.

Hallas brushed away Frodo's hand and filled his glass halfway. "Just a little more. It is very light for an Umbar wine."

"Light?" Frodo laughed and picked up the glass, sipping at it. "If this is light, then I'm sure I should never survive a heavy Umbar wine."

"We shall have to see … we shall just have to see when you come to us."

Faramir beamed at Frodo. He and Frodo had relaxed with the good meal, the wine, and especially the fine company that Hallas had proved to be. Though Frodo had been more than a little nervous before the man arrived, Hallas had quickly put him at ease, talking effortlessly of Umbar and its ways and the fine welcome Frodo would receive there.

When Faramir reached out and stroked Frodo's cheek, Frodo blushed and looked over quickly at Hallas. Though he and Faramir had enjoyed themselves with Hallas, they had been scrupulously careful not to be overly affectionate with each other. It seemed now to Frodo that he was not the only one affected by the wine.

Hallas laughed, a deep, earthy laugh that suited his dark looks. "No need to be shy in front of me. Feel free to show your affection. I am honored that you have done so … to have been taken into your confidence."

That was all the encouragement Faramir needed. He pulled Frodo from the hobbit's chair and onto his lap. Frodo curled up comfortably against Faramir's chest and idly thought that sitting on Faramir's lap--pressed to his lover's chest with his head on Faramir's shoulder--was the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Ah … that is better," said Hallas as he slid Frodo's glass closer to the hobbit.

Frodo smiled his thanks and peered at the little bowl of greenish-gold oil near him. Taking a piece of bread, he tore off a large bite--large, that is, for a mere hobbit-sized mouth. He dunked the bread into the oil, sprinkled a few grains of salt on it, and fed part of it to Faramir before finishing the rest himself. "What did you call it? Olire?"

"Olive oil … from the olive tree. It is almost more precious to us than our wine. Another thing you will see when you are with us … as I hope you will be for a long time. The hot summers are life to the olive tree. The fruit that the tree bears are in the form of hard, green berries. Some we cure with brine and eat that way … others we take and put through a press to extract the oil. Much better, I think, than the pale oils of the north … or so I have heard though I have rarely had any."

"Oh, yes … I quite agree … so delicious," said Frodo.

"Hallas, that is high praise from a hobbit," Faramir said, nuzzling the top of Frodo's head fondly. "Food--and drink--are … well … of professional interest to hobbits."

Hallas raised his eyebrows. "Indeed? Then Frodo's appreciation of our oil is all the more pleasant."

Frodo nudged Faramir with his elbow. "Tell me of the summers again, Hallas."

"Quite a bit hotter than here … very dry. The sun is fierce, and we all grow very brown since we like to be outside. You will like it, though you will have to be careful at first not to burn your skin. Are all hobbits so pale? Not that I am complaining … believe me, everyone will want to touch your skin to prove to themselves it is real."

When Frodo said nothing, Faramir chuckled and answered for him. "Hobbits are not terribly brown as a rule, though Frodo's skin is a little unusual in its fairness … as he is in many other respects. You are right, though. He will have to take care at first that he does not overdo things in the sun."

Frodo rested against Faramir's shoulder, content to sip at his wine and listen to them, glad of Faramir's easy conversation. Faramir had been quiet most of the evening, though it seemed to Frodo that it had been a peaceful, contented sort of quiet. Whenever Frodo had caught his eye, he had seen how relaxed Faramir was and it had filled him with happiness. Truly, Frodo felt a little giddy in Faramir's lap, and not just from having drunk so much of the intoxicating wine. Bringing his hand up to the opening of Faramir's shirt, he plucked at the suede cords that laced it together loosely, slipping his fingers idly beneath them to stroke the fine hair that he loved to feel against his skin.

Frodo spoke a little musingly. "Hallas … is that an Umbar name? It sounds … somehow … like Gondor."

"Ah, but it is indeed a fine Gondorian name," answered Hallas.

"Yes, it is," said Faramir. "There was a Steward by that very name though I forget how far back."

"Forget … you?" asked Frodo. "And here I thought you were ever so book-learned."

Faramir nipped the tip of Frodo's nose. "Yes, well … lists of Stewards and the years of their rule were never my specialty … to the despair of my tutors. I'm afraid I was all for romantic tales and poetry. But I do recall the name was somewhere in the midst of the list. It is good to know that not all our kinship with Umbar has been forgotten in these long years."

"No, certainly not," said Hallas softly. "A kinship that will soon be renewed in these happier days … that is my belief. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you will be coming to us … and you, Frodo … you will be very welcome. I must tell you that many there know of you already and will be honored by your presence."

Frodo looked down. He always did that when he was praised. It was something that he had not been able to get used to. Casting about for something to say that would turn the conversation away from himself, he asked, "When do you go back?"

"I believe the day after tomorrow … if that will suit you, Faramir, that is. I believe you will come with me a few days on my return journey so we can discuss our plans more fully. There is much I would tell you. Will you come with us, Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, I will stay here."

"The day after tomorrow," said Faramir. "Yes, that will be enough time for me to prepare … though I can only go with you a couple of days and then must turn back."

"Very good," said Hallas. "And it will not be too many weeks before both of you come to us. We can discuss when and where as we ride together. Ah … Frodo, your glass is empty again. A little more?"

Frodo laughed tipsily as he watched Hallas pour him another glass of the wine that had slid down his throat so easily the entire evening and would surely give him the most amazing headache the next morning.

* * *

"Oh! These confounded laces … how did you ever get them in such a knot?" Frodo laughed and plopped onto Faramir's chest. He bobbled up and down as Faramir's chest shook in silent laughter.

They were lying on their bed. Hallas had departed a few minutes earlier after arranging with Faramir when and where they would meet the day after tomorrow. Yes, they were lying on their bed, though Faramir did not quite remember how they got there. He vaguely recalled weaving across the floor into the bedroom, Frodo tagging after him. They had shed a few pieces of clothing on the way--Faramir's boots thudding on the floor, Frodo's weskit and shirt strewn somewhere between the door of the bedroom and the bed.

Faramir had heaved Frodo up on the bed with a whoop of delight--well, tossed him like a rag doll. After following Frodo, they had lain there giggling until Frodo had wobbled onto Faramir's lap and tried to undo his shirt laces with unsteady but determined fingers.

"Well, it seemed quite easy this morning." Faramir raised his head and squinted at the offending ties. Dropping his head down in defeat, he said, "Oh, just get a knife and cut them off."

This sent Frodo into another gale of laughter so violent that it dislodged him from Faramir's lap and he flopped over on his back. Regaining control of himself, he said with a heavy sigh, "No … no … I'll try again."

"My Frodo … so dutiful … oof!" Frodo crawled back onto Faramir's lap and worked away diligently at the laces, this time successfully. After undoing them, he stuck his fingers into the now-gaping shirt, spreading it apart. Faramir arched his back as Frodo planted sloppy kisses on his chest, the hobbit's wet mouth avidly seeking out nipples that were hardening just as Faramir's member was twitching and pressing against the tight fabric of his leggings.

"Lift up. I want to pull it off."

Faramir raised his arms obediently as Frodo tugged on his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Frodo dropped down immediately and their bare chests met, rubbing back and forth until Faramir rolled Frodo over on his back, undoing his breeches and pulling them off.

Faramir looked down on Frodo lying on the bed. It almost hurt his eyes to look at Frodo in his nakedness. He was that beautiful to Faramir with his pale skin. The marks on his body did not detract from his loveliness--the small scar on his shoulder, the curving pink line where the Orc whip had slashed him in Cirith Ungol. Nothing could lessen Frodo's beauty to Faramir. Oh, yes, it hurt his eyes--his heart--to look at such loveliness and know that it belonged to him.

"Take those off." Frodo tugged at Faramir's leggings. "They're so tight … how ever do you get them on?"

"Are you complaining? I seem to recall you ogling me on occasion."

"Ogle? Hobbits don't ogle."

"Hmph … what would you call it, then?" Faramir wriggled out of his leggings and tossed them on the floor.

"We're very observant."

"Come here."

Faramir leaned against the headboard and opened his arms as Frodo crawled onto his lap. He raised his knees to support Frodo when he leaned back. After looking at Frodo with hungry eyes, he reached out his forefinger and tried to bring it to Frodo's nose. His finger wavered and missed its mark, landing on his chest.

"How will you ever bear the heavy Umbar wines if such a light one does this to you?" Frodo smirked a bit before setting his mouth in a serious line. A gentle hiccup spoiled the effect, just a little.

Faramir stroked Frodo's chest, his thumbs circling hardening nipples. Their members lengthened and thickened, pressed together just so, the tips even.

"Look!" Frodo said with gloating eyes. "We're the same length." The exultant look disappeared as Faramir wrapped his hand around them both and squeezed lightly. Frodo moaned and lay back, his knees squeezing Faramir's sides, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Come. I want to make love to you," Faramir said, his voice hoarse with need.

Frodo did not move, not even when Faramir tugged at his arms. "No … not yet."

"Why not? I want you."

When Frodo finally opened his eyes, they were a little bleary but there was a serious light in them nonetheless. "Yesterday … when you came back from talking to Aragorn."

Faramir tried to speak lightly though he felt a wisp of panic rise from his belly. "What about it?"

"You still have not told me what the two of you said."

"But I did … don't you remember?"

Frodo's eyes were clear now, intense blue burning into Faramir, making that wisp of panic circle around him, thickening as quickly as his member had hardened. Frodo said softly, "You told me little bits and pieces … nothing very specific … like why it made you so tired and pale."

"Frodo … please. My head is spinning … later."

"No. You told Aragorn when I was there that there was nothing he could say to you that you would not tell me later. Why did you change your mind?"

"It's nothing … really."

"If it was nothing, you would not be so evasive. This is not like you."

Frodo slipped away and lay on his side facing Faramir, his face so stern and accusing. Oh, Faramir did not like that look--had not seen it before. He didn't know what to do--didn't want to hurt Frodo with the words that had been said between him and Aragorn.

Faramir ran his hands over his face, trying to clear his thoughts. He turned and looked at Frodo, lying on his side to face him. They lay close together but without touching. It was a small distance, but Faramir did not know how to bridge it.

"He asked me if I love you … if this is nothing but lust that will burn away soon … if that's worth throwing away my engagement."

"And what did you say?"

"That I love you … of course."

"What else did he say?"

"Oh … a few choice things about what he'd do to me if I hurt you."

Frodo's eyes lit up. "Really? What?"

"Oh, now you're smiling." Faramir put his fingers to Frodo's upturned mouth, but Frodo brushed them away.

"I am not. Tell me."

"Nothing specific … just … er … some mention about breaking me in half if I do anything to hurt you … about it being his right to order me where and how he chooses."

"He did? Well, he has a lot of nerve. Did you give him what for?"

"I'm afraid I did."

"Hmph. Good."

Frodo snuggled a little closer and stroked Faramir's face. "What else?"

"He asked me about Eowyn." Frodo said nothing, just looked at Faramir with those impossibly wide eyes. "What I feel for her."

"And … what do you feel for her?"

"I love her."

"Oh. Are you … are you sorry? Do you want to change your mind?"

"No. I do care for her … she is dear to me. I cannot deny that I'm frightened of what's going to happen … don't want to hurt her … but …"

Frodo nodded.

"I've made my choice, for good or ill. I love you, Frodo … you're my heart. I look at you and see my heart. Haven't I told you that?"

"No," Frodo said in such a small voice that Faramir barely heard it.

"Well, you are. I won't lie to you and say it doesn't matter that I have to leave Gondor … can't go to Ithilien. But it pales into nothing when I look at you and know what I will have … you."

"You said all this to Aragorn?"

"Oh, yes."

"And what did he say?"

"That he will help us as best he can … as you can see from his willingness to send us to Umbar."

"Why didn't you want to tell me what the two of you said?"

Faramir sighed. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. Our words were harsh … he was very direct … spoke so plainly of Eowyn. I wanted to shield you from that."

Frodo pushed up against Faramir and wound his arms around his neck. "I am no child just because I am little."

"I know. Forgive me?"

"Yes … this time. But you must tell me what bothers you … not keep things from me. We'll be alone much of the time. How do you think I'll feel if you shut me out … the way you did when we came back here yesterday afternoon. Promise me that you'll try."

"I promise."

"Good. Make love to me … now."

With a sigh, Faramir pulled Frodo tightly to him. So unyielding were Faramir's arms around Frodo that it made the hobbit gasp and groan though he only pressed closer. Frodo pushed Faramir onto his back and slid on top of him, dropping hard, biting kisses up and down Faramir's chest. Faramir thought for a moment that he would faint from the explosion of pleasure that coursed through him with each sharp nip.

Frodo whispered, "Where's the oil?"

"Here." When Faramir grabbed the flask with fumbling fingers, Frodo took it from him and sat up, looking down on Faramir with soft eyes. He unstopped the flask and poured the oil onto Faramir's hardened shaft. Putting the flask away quickly, he took Faramir into his hands and Faramir moaned at the soft fingers encircling him. How did he get so hard? It seemed that he grew harder each time they were together.

Faramir moved to push Frodo on his back with quick hands circling his waist. "No," said Frodo. "I want to do it."

Dropping his hands to his sides, Faramir waited as Frodo drew himself up. Faramir watched Frodo, the hobbit's eyes half-closed as he held the thickened head against his opening. Frodo made no move to press down, just rubbed the tip around and around, his eyes closing completely in dreamy contentment.

"Frodo … please …"

Frodo smiled, bit his lip in concentration, and pushed down. Oh, when Frodo took him in, when Frodo's most secret place opened to him, Faramir thought the heat and the tight clasp of soft tissue around him would drive him mad. Faramir gripped Frodo's hips to guide him.

"No … not yet," said Frodo, loosening Faramir's hold about him. He stayed still, his hands feather-light on Faramir's chest. Faramir barely breathed as he watched Frodo swaying lightly above him, the hobbit's face locked in some dream of pleasure. Finally, Frodo opened his eyes and smiled at Faramir with such sweetness that Faramir felt quick tears stinging his eyelids.

Frodo's voice was low--as sweet as his smile. "Do you know how you feel to me when you're in me like this?"

"Tell me," said Faramir, his voice a hoarse rasp.

"Like it will split me in two and I want you to do it … like you hold me together."

Frodo began to move slowly, his eyes closing again. Faramir's eyes were caught by the sight, entranced by Frodo's dreaminess. When Faramir began to rotate his hips as Frodo moved above him, Frodo cried out and it broke Faramir. Rolling them over, Faramir pushed Frodo on his back, pulling his legs up, hooking his arms under his knees. Faramir thrust frantically now, one hand around Frodo's hot, hard little member--as hard as Faramir's shaft stroking inside Frodo.

The dance quickened again for them. It never ended for Faramir, not really. Even when they were not together, Faramir felt it--felt Frodo pulling him to him. Oh, how did the room get so hot? It was a cool night, but the sweat dripped down Faramir's chest onto Frodo. It dripped onto Frodo's pale skin that gleamed with a rosy glow flushing deeper as he moved hard against Faramir's thrusts. They moaned, together, always together. The flush of Frodo's skin rose up to meet Faramir, covering his eyes, filling his senses with a light that burned him but didn't hurt him. At the last, when he could no longer bear it, Faramir thrust hard and came. He climaxed so hard, pulsing over and over inside Frodo, filling him. He panted, swaying above Frodo, looking at his lover's member still hard and twitching on his little belly.

Pulling away gently, Faramir slid down between Frodo's legs and put his mouth on him, taking his sweet, hard flesh into his mouth. He loved Frodo's taste on his tongue, so sweet, so salty, the center of his world. He circled one finger around Frodo's opening--damp with his own warm seed--while he sucked softly, insistently, his tongue swirling around the heart-shaped tip. Frodo bucked and cried out wordlessly, his hips flexing as he arched high and spent himself in Faramir's mouth. Oh, the taste, Faramir loved the taste of Frodo. He craved all of Frodo's tastes.

Rubbing his face back and forth against Frodo's damp belly, Faramir whispered over and over, "Love you … love you …" He waited for some response, tense until gentle hands closed over his head, fingers twining in his damp hair. "Are you mine, Frodo?"

"Yes."

* * *

Chapter 18

Was there a fly on the tip of Frodo's nose? He shook his head and sniffed, but when he stopped, the tickling was still there. Frodo laughed and wrapped his arms around Faramir's neck, drawing him down. Keeping his eyes closed, he opened his mouth to Faramir's warm lips and tongue pressing into him. When he rubbed the backs of his fingers around Faramir's shoulders and touched soft suede instead of bare skin, he made a little noise of distress. Bother. He'd forgotten.

"Is it morning already?" Frodo murmured.

"Yes, though it's still early. I must meet Hallas now."

"And you'll only be gone four days?"

Faramir nuzzled Frodo's neck. "Mm hmm. You'll go back to Gandalf's house while I'm gone … like we agreed?"

"Yes, I'll wait for you there … need to go there anyway."

"Good. I'll come straight there when I get back … can't say what time of day or night it'll be, though."

When Faramir stood to leave, Frodo looked up at him and his heart seemed to burst. How he loved Faramir. How had this happened to them?

Faramir stroked his cheek. "I must go. See you in a few days."

"All right. Safe journey. I love you."

"And I love you."

* * *

It was a fine, hot afternoon when Frodo ambled slowly through the streets of the Citadel on his way to Gandalf's house. There was no hurry, so he took his time to look around and smile at the many folk who greeted him courteously. He felt warmed by their looks of interest and welcome. While it seemed to him that some people wanted to speak with him, he still felt a little shy and kept his feet moving, nodding his head quickly but not saying anything.

As Frodo turned down the street to Gandalf's house, he quickened his steps. Suddenly, he longed to see his friends, though he wondered what on earth he was going to say to them. How was he going to explain what had happened to him? He smiled a little to himself, thinking that the expression on his face alone would be enough to give him away--that, and surely Gandalf had told them already what he and Faramir had been up to. He stopped at the garden gate a second, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

Frodo remembered how he had sat in the garden anxiously waiting for Faramir the afternoon after they had slept in Frodo's bed that long night when they had both been unwell. He laughed a little, thinking back on his bath the next day and all the things that had preoccupied him--things that he now knew all about first hand.

"What's got you laughing like that, cousin?" Merry's cheery voice broke in on his musing.

Smiling broadly, Frodo walked eagerly toward Sam, Merry and Pippin. They all sat under the tree, tea things spread out about them--teapot, cups, milk, ripe strawberries, sweet cakes and biscuits.

"Have you left anything for me?"

"We might have … that is, if you give us the proper payment," said Pippin.

"And what might that be?"

Pippin waggled his eyebrows. "Oh … a few pieces of information would do, I should think."

"I suppose I could manage that."

"Well, then … sit you down. Er … that's the house we're staying in over there. Look familiar to you?"

Frodo sank down on the ground next to Sam. Plucking a long blade of grass, he slipped it in his mouth and chewed a minute, squinting at the house. "Well … it does look somewhat familiar, though I'm not quite sure … hey!" Frodo ducked the biscuit flying at him from Pippin's direction.

Picking up the biscuit, Frodo nibbled it, savoring its honeyed sweetness. While all four hobbits sat silently, Frodo cast little looks around at each one of them. As each one met his eyes briefly before staring back at the ground, they all blushed lightly. Frodo felt himself flushing in turn, struggling to think of something to say--something, anything just to begin. He had to say something to break this silence. After all, he had disappeared for days … though he realized they knew where he had been, they must know. Gandalf must have told them something, if not all.

Finally, Frodo screwed himself up to it and said, "So … I've been with Faramir."

There were nods all around, quick eager glances with curious eyes, but still his three friends said nothing.

Frodo continued. "He and I … we … I mean … you know …" Well, that was brilliant.

Merry laughed and said, "We know very well what you mean … and where you've been. Gandalf told us. Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes … very."

There was silence again, broken only by a little clinking of the crockery as Pippin poured them all fresh cups. After settling the teapot firmly back onto the ground, Pippin cleared his throat and burst out, "But what do you do?"

Sam choked a bit on his mouthful of tea, and Merry groaned into his cup, shaking his head. Frodo blinked. Intending to say something discreet, instead he said, "Everything!"

"But … how?"

Frodo laughed and said, "How do you think?"

Pippin's eyes grew very large. "You mean … you let him …"

Frodo nodded, a small smile curving his lips as he thought just exactly what he let Faramir do to him--repeatedly.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Merry broke in. "Mind your own business, Pip … Frodo doesn't want to tell us these things … er … do you, Frodo?"

To his everlasting surprise, Frodo found that he did want to tell them. Oh, he wanted to tell them every little detail. "I don't mind … that is … if you want to hear."

Merry gestured with his teacup. "Well, excuse me for interrupting. We're all ears."

Frodo lay back on the grass and propped his shoulders against the smooth tree trunk. Looking up through the leaves, he smiled dreamily, remembering exactly what he and Faramir had done the night before. Merry's snapping fingers in front of his face brought him back from his reverie. "Oh … sorry … where was I?"

Pippin snorted. "You were going to tell us if it hurts … when he … I mean … you don't mean to say that you let him put his …"

"Oh, he does not … er … do you, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, breaking into the conversation for the first time. If possible, Sam's eyes were even more saucer like than Pippin's.

Frodo said, "That I do, Sam. Oh, I do."

"But doesn't it hurt?" Pippin asked. He threw his hands out toward Frodo. "Isn't he awfully … um … big?"

"Oh, yes, he's ever so big. I thought it would split me in half the first time we did it."

"So it does hurt?"

Frodo nodded and looked over at Sam, who started forward with his fists clenched, ready to come to Frodo's aid. "It's all right, Sam. It's not like that … that is, not like I don't want him to do it. I do want him to do it, all the time. I don't really know how to describe it. It hurts at first … like a thousand pins are sticking me there … but just for a second or two … then it feels so good I think I'll go mad if he stops."

After blurting out all these intimate details, Frodo stopped a minute to catch his breath. There--he'd done it. He looked up and saw Gandalf standing at the door. Waving, he cried out, "Hullo, Gandalf!"

"How kind of you to come visit us, Frodo. Has he gone?"

"Yes … he'll be back in four days, I think."

"Very well … shall we have your company until then?"

Frodo nodded, flushing.

"Good," Gandalf said, smiling fondly at Frodo. "I'm off to see Aragorn … will see you at dinner tonight." Gandalf turned away and shut the door.

Sam asked, "Who's gone … Faramir? Where? Has he gone to Ithilien?"

Speaking softly, Frodo said, "Yes, he's gone … not to Ithilien. He probably won't be going to Ithilien … at least not for a long while."

"Why not? Where has he gone?"

"An envoy from Umbar came … Hallas. Faramir is accompanying him on his return journey for a couple of days … to talk over some things."

"What things?"

Frodo drew a deep breath. "Faramir is going to go to Umbar to be Aragorn's emissary … start to rebuild relations between Gondor and Umbar. I … I'm going with him."

There was silence again--dead silence. It wasn't like the quiet before when they had all been a little tongue-tied at Frodo's sudden reappearance. Frodo swore he could hear the beating hearts of all four of them. He looked into each of their eyes, pleading for understanding.

"I love him … he loves me. We want to be together. Is that so bad?"

When Sam spoke, Frodo heard the scandalized tone. "But, he's taken … what about Eowyn?"

Frodo sighed. "I know. It's complicated."

Sam snorted. "I should think so, though maybe I'm not the one who should be saying it. What … what are you going to do … just break them up?"

"It's not just Frodo in this," said Merry quietly. "Faramir wants it too, doesn't he?"

"Yes', said Frodo. "He does. We both do. I know I shouldn't … shouldn't do this, but …"

"You want to be with him."

Frodo closed his eyes, grateful at the quiet tone of understanding in Merry's voice. "Yes. I never really wanted anything for myself before now. Back in the Shire, I just sort of drifted. Not that I wasn't happy there … though I always felt like there had to be something else … just didn't know what it was. Then, when the Ring came to me, my own wants and needs didn't seem to matter … had to do what I needed to do. I didn't mind … really, I didn't … not much, that is. Didn't think I'd come through it alive. Only you did, Sam, didn't you?"

Sam's voice was gruff with affection. "Always did … never doubted it."

"I know. I know you think it bad of me, but he's what I want. He's the only thing I've ever really wanted. He says it's the same for him."

"Don't you fret, then, Mr. Frodo. It'll work out … has to."

"Thank you, Sam."

They sat quietly again for a few moments. The silence this time was not tense, not uncomfortable. Frodo relaxed. There--he'd done it, told them what he'd needed to tell them and they hadn't turned away from him in disgust.

When Pippin cleared his throat, Frodo turned to him, his eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"So when it stops hurting and starts feeling good, what …"

Merry groaned and flopped on his back. "Pippin … really!"

The silence was broken once more--this time with shouts of laughter that stayed with them the rest of the afternoon and evening.

* * *

Chapter 19

_"… it is difficult for us to know precisely what happens when 'deep calls unto deep'." (A Time to Live … A Time to Die, Prince Leopold of Loewenstein, p. vii)_

The sheets twisted and turned around Frodo's body, trapping him as he rolled over in his restless sleep. With a strangled cry, he sat up, breathing hard. He was safe. There was no one chasing him.

"Faramir?"

The only answer to his hoarse whisper was the silence of the deep night. Frodo sighed and lay back against his pillow, straightening the disordered sheets over him and pulling the covers tight. He curled into a little ball trying to warm himself, but he shivered from the cold. It was so cold in this big bed by himself.

* * *

"Faramir?"

Faramir sat up from his bedroll and listened, but it was absolutely quiet under the night sky bright with Elbereth's stars. There was no sound of bird or beast as he sat there breathing evenly, rubbing his shoulder. Even his horse was silent. Riding hard the past few days had surely made his shoulder ache. He grinned a little ruefully at the thought of how little time it had taken him to grow unaccustomed to riding long hours and sleeping on the hard ground. Well, he would be back in Minas Tirith by tomorrow night--would ride as many hours as it took to get there.

Lying back down and pulling his blanket up to his neck, Faramir told himself to go to sleep, though he didn't feel drowsy in the slightest. He wrapped his arms around his chest and curved on his side into an empty spoon.

* * *

They had reached the "filling up the corners" part of dinner--Sam nibbling on a sweet biscuit, Merry and Pippin arguing over who got the last slices of apple tart, Gandalf sitting back and watching them fondly as he lit his pipe. Only Frodo was little interested in the food, a fact that had prompted more than a little teasing from Merry and Pippin.

"Keep woolgathering like that and you won't get any apple tart," Pippin said.

Frodo came to with Merry's hand waving in front of his face. "Oh … sorry," he said, flushing.

"Frodo here has more important things to moon about than apple tart," Merry said with a sly smile.

Not wanting his friends to find him completely strange, Frodo reached out a hand for a bit of cheese. Once he got it to his mouth, he lost interest and absently put it back down on his plate.

Rain had poured down hard since early evening, drowning out any sounds of passersby on the street. Though Frodo had started repeatedly at imagined sounds of footsteps approaching the house, in truth the rain splashing against the street and the windows had been too loud to tell if anyone was actually there.

He started forward again, his body tense and his hands clenched into his napkin on his lap. When no knock came at the door, he sat back with a disappointed sigh.

Gandalf's voice was low and gravelly when he spoke. "You three … off to bed."

"But it's not late … hardly ten o'clock," said Pippin.

"Yes, yes … but I want to talk to Frodo. Off you go … please."

Grumbling, the three hobbits left the table and headed for their bedrooms. Frodo cast a grateful glance at the wizard, wondering why he had ever been irritated with him in the past.

Gandalf smiled at him, his bushy eyebrows raised. "They can be a little too much on occasion … good to have a little peace and quiet now and then."

"Yes," said Frodo agreeably though now the others had gone, their footsteps receding as they climbed the stairs, he grew a little anxious at what Gandalf might have to say to him.

Silence grew between them, the only sound the hiss of Gandalf's pipe and the spattering of the rain against the windows. "It's been but a few days. He'll be here … just as he promised," said Gandalf.

Frodo felt a little burst of relief in his chest. "I know," he said, his voice soft.

"Then, what are you worried about?"

"I don't know," Frodo said hesitantly. He didn't mean to, but a long sigh escaped his lips. It seemed to him that he had done nothing but sigh the past four days.

"Don't you?" Gandalf's eyes glinted at Frodo with a shrewd light.

Frodo held out his hands in supplication for something--he did not know what. "Not really … just …" He thought for a moment that he should keep his foolish doubts to himself, but a quick look in Gandalf's kind eyes made him blurt it out. "What if he's changed his mind?"

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know … why shouldn't he? Four days away from here is a long time to think."

Gandalf stuck out his chin. "I think it good that you each have had a little break from each other's company … give you both a chance for some clearheaded thinking."

Frodo did not answer--did not want to even consider it. "It's so late. He said he'd be here today."

"It's unpleasant riding in a hard downpour. Perhaps he is sheltering somewhere near the City for the night, waiting out the storm. Have you considered that?"

"Yes." Frodo nodded. "That must be it."

"Come now … to bed. He'll be here tomorrow."

Frodo sighed again but stood up and followed Gandalf out of the dining room and up the stairs to his room, his feet dragging. As he stood at the wardrobe getting undressed--not that he was going to get any sleep--he thought about what Gandalf had said. The wizard's reassuring words slipped away just as surely as the heavy rain drummed against the roof.

Perhaps Faramir had changed his mind. Had the four days away from Frodo--riding long hours in the sun, talking with Hallas, perhaps learning things about Umbar that displeased him--given him the clarity of mind to know that they should part? Had he realized that what he really wants is not Frodo--that it truly has been nothing but lust between them? Perhaps Faramir had come back already. Surely the ride back would have been quicker than the two days out, talking with Hallas all the way. Yes, that was it. Faramir had come back--with a changed mind. He was too ashamed to face Frodo, as he had been after that first kiss.

Frodo pulled his nightshirt over his head and smoothed it down his hips with nervous fingers. Sitting on the bed, he pulled the covers down.

* * *

Frodo shivered. Though it was summer, the heavy storm had chilled the air which crept in under the front door of Gandalf's house. When Frodo felt the damp breeze on his feet, he drew up his knees so that he was completely covered by his nightshirt. He squirmed to find a comfortable position on the bottom stair. The entry hall was dark except for the light from his candle that cast tall shadows on the walls and the door.

At least the rain had slackened, though it still fell lightly, the worst of the storm past. He smiled when he yawned, his mouth cracking open suddenly. Though his bed had been soft and warm, he had not been able to sleep there. Now that he had made his way down the stairs to wait by the door, he struggled to keep his eyes open. He leaned his head against the wall and let his drowsiness overtake him. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the clock chiming midnight. The fourth day had ended.

* * *

Frodo's eyes flew open at the soft knock on the door. He jumped up and ran to it, flinging its heavy timbers open. Faramir walked in quickly and threw back his hood. He smiled at Frodo. "Sorry to be so late … the rain slowed me down. Has it been raining hard in the City?"

Nodding briefly, unable to speak coherently, Frodo watched Faramir undo his dripping cloak and hang it on a hook on the wall. His vision of Faramir grew cloudy as his eyes misted a little bit. Faramir had come--just as he had promised.

When Faramir kneeled down next to Frodo, the hobbit threw his arms around his lover's neck. He wrapped his legs tightly around Faramir's waist when the man stood up, holding hard. They rested quietly for a minute. Frodo buried his face in Faramir's neck, delighting in his skin, which was cold from the rain-chilled night air. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of damp dust and sweat and horse. Frodo could not breathe in his scent enough.

Faramir walked up the stairs, stooping down briefly to pick up the candle, one hand firmly cradling Frodo's bottom. Rubbing his face against Faramir's throat, Frodo clung to him, relishing the scrape of silky beard against his skin. Relief and contentment washed through him with every step.

Coming into Frodo's room, Faramir sat down on the bed and set the candle on the bed side table. They sat clinging tightly to each other for a minute. Frodo finally leaned back in Faramir's arms and looked up at him. "The trip … it was good?"

"Yes … very," Faramir answered. "I've much to tell you, though it can wait until tomorrow morning. And I want to hear what you've been up to."

Frodo smile wavered. Was there something Faramir feared to tell him? Something that he wanted to put off?

"What's wrong," asked Faramir. "You looked worried."

"Nothing … just relieved to see you back here."

Faramir grinned. "Just as I said I would … on the fourth day." He quirked his eyebrows. "Though strictly speaking, it's actually the fifth day since it's past midnight."

Frodo nodded slowly, kicking himself inside at having been so anxious though he could not help wondering about Faramir's thoughts during the long hours he had ridden by himself.

"Come … tell me." Faramir's grin faded into a look of concern.

"It's nothing … really … I'm just a little tired."

Faramir shook his head. "No, that's not true ... out with it … or I shall have to berate you like you did me the other night for keeping things from you."

A startled laugh burst from Frodo's lips. "Oh! I did not think … yes, you're right."

"Well?"

Frodo was silent for another minute, Faramir's grave eyes on him patient and intent. Finally, the words came out in a rush. "When it grew so late, I was afraid that you had … had changed your mind … had thought better of … of us …" His voice trailed off as embarrassment and worry closed his throat.

His brows drawn together, Faramir said slowly, "But I thought I told you I didn't know exactly what time I would be back. As it happened, the rain slowed me down … had to shelter a while in a village to wait out the worst of it. Anyway … have I said or done anything to make you doubt me?" His eyes grew a little distant.

Frodo shook his head. "No … nothing … you've done nothing … except do as you said you would." He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth trembling in the effort to curve them. "It's hard to wait, not knowing … even with all the reassurance in the world. I'm sorry."

Faramir pulled him close, cradling the hobbit's head on his shoulder. "Sshh … it's all right now. I missed you so much … even thought I heard your voice calling my name last night."

"Did you?" Frodo was so pleased that he wriggled a little in Faramir's embrace. He pressed his mouth to Faramir's throat happily.

'Oh … that you like. There I was in the middle of nowhere all by myself … wondering if I was losing my mind … and you like that."

Frodo pushed Faramir down on the bed and nipped his neck. "Yes."

Rolling Frodo over quickly, Faramir lay between his thighs, his lips taking in great mouthfuls of Frodo's throat. Frodo lay back and let the familiar pleasure wash over him. How foolish he had been. Soon Faramir's kisses slowed, and he let his body rest on top of Frodo, his head tucked on the hobbit's small shoulder.

"I think I'm too tired to move," Faramir whispered.

"Come to bed, then, and sleep."

"Mm hmm. I do want to wash first … get some of this grime off me. Can you call for some water?"

"There's some here already … thought you might want to wash."

Faramir lifted up and away. Frodo watched him walk toward the dresser with its wash basin ready, his breath coming a little quicker at the sight of Faramir undressing slowly. He never grew tired of gazing at the play of the lean muscles of Faramir's back when the man shifted and stretched to pull off his clothes.

Looking back at Frodo, Faramir asked, "Is there any oil"?

Frodo flushed and smiled, his eyelids growing heavy with desire. "I thought you were tired."

"Not that tired."

Frodo slipped off the bed and moved toward the door. "I think I can find some … be right back. Shall I bring some food too?"

"No ... just the oil … and you."

* * *

Chapter 20

Frodo returned to his room, a rough earthenware flask clutched in his hand. He wrinkled his nose a bit as he remembered thinking he would have to resort to some common cooking oil, which did not seem terribly pleasant to him though it would have done the job. Fortunately, just before he started to make his way down the stairs to the kitchen, he remembered the oil that Gandalf and Sam had rubbed into his back when he had been bedridden. He looked down at the flask and smiled; its clean scent of rosemary would suit him far better.

Crawling onto the bed and kneeling in its center, Frodo sat back on his heels. He placed the flask next to him and looked over at his lover. Faramir was still washing, his back turned to Frodo. He turned around and smiled at Frodo as he continued to wash, soaping his legs. Frodo's breath caught at the sight of Faramir's partially thickened member heavy against his thigh, so long even when not fully aroused. Oh, he wanted to feel Faramir pushing inside him--longed to feel Faramir's body stiffening above him before a final fierce thrust into climax. Four days had been far too long to go without such pleasure.

Faramir finished washing and began toweling himself dry, all the while smiling at Frodo with eyes softened by desire. Frodo was glad he was already sitting; if not, he would probably have fallen over on the floor. When Faramir finished drying himself, he walked slowly to the bed, raising his arms to massage the back of his neck, his taut muscles shifting under smooth skin. Each careful step, each stretch of lean muscle made Frodo squirm on the bed, aching to feel those muscles against him, on him, pressing his knees apart.

Frodo laid his hands against his chest, starting at his nightshirt's dampness. He had not even noticed that it had become a little wet from pressing against Faramir's rain-soaked clothes. Taking it by the hem, he pulled it up and over his head, tossing it on the floor.

Faramir kneeled on the bed and crawled to Frodo, slipping his arms around the hobbit's waist and pulling him tight. He inclined his head to bury his mouth against Frodo's throat. "So hungry for you … that's all I could think of on the way back."

Impatient to feel Faramir's weight on him, Frodo pulled his lover down. There was nothing he relished more than feeling Faramir lying between his spread thighs, the hair on the man's chest brushing his nipples. Frodo lay back with his arms held wide above his head, undulating beneath Faramir as the man kissed and licked down his throat and chest, the flat of his tongue lapping at the hobbit's hardening nipples.

Faramir rolled over, pulling Frodo with him, his hands cupping Frodo's bottom, fingers parting his cleft. He searched among the sheets for the flask, opening and tipping it between Frodo's cheeks. Massaging the fragrant oil around Frodo's puckered opening, Faramir's long fingers entered, stretching and pulling; each scissoring movement elicited a soft moan from Frodo.

Frodo slid his hand between them. "Oh!" Faramir had not hardened; his member was just thickened a little, the way it had been when he had been washing. Frodo wriggled down and drew Faramir's member into his mouth. He relished Faramir's taste--so clean from his washing, but underneath there was a musky taste intoxicating to Frodo's senses. Though Frodo licked and sucked as best he could, Faramir's hands laced in Frodo's hair and guiding his head, nothing happened.

With a groan, Faramir pulled Frodo up to him. "Sorry … guess I'm more tired than I thought."

Frodo laughed a little nervously; this had not happened before. "It's all right. Your … er … backside must be numb from all that riding." Faramir laughed at that, though when Frodo leaned up to gaze in his eyes, Faramir looked away and flushed.

"It's all right," said Frodo. "Just sleep."

"Not yet."

Pushing Frodo flat to the mattress and sliding down, Faramir took Frodo in his mouth. Frodo felt a pang of guilt; it did not seem fair that he should have such pleasure when … After a moment, Faramir's mouth and tongue on him drove away any thought of pushing his lover away. When Faramir slipped one long finger inside him, twisting and thrusting against his most sensitive spot, Frodo groaned. He squirmed on the bed, his hands clutching at the sheets as Faramir tightened his mouth on Frodo's hardness. He moaned constantly, Faramir's swirling tongue driving him mad. His moans grew louder and his hips arched off the bed as his climax approached. With a sharp cry, his seed pulsed into Faramir's mouth, his fingers clutching Faramir's head. He melted--melted with Faramir's mouth on him, his finger stroking gently now.

When Faramir moved up to lie next to Frodo and pulled up the sheet, pounding footsteps sounded in the hall. The door flew open, followed immediately by Merry and Pippin. The two hobbits slid to a halt, staring at Faramir and Frodo with their mouths hanging open. Faramir stayed leaning over Frodo, his hand on Frodo's belly. For a distracted fraction of a second, Frodo blessed Faramir for having pulled up the sheet.

"Er … we woke up … a shout … thought you were …" Merry's voice trailed off into silence.

More footsteps propelled Sam into the room. "What's wrong?" he gasped before he stopped and stared with wide button eyes.

Frodo looked at them and then up at Faramir. The man seemed, if possible, even more embarrassed than the three hobbits frozen just inside the room. Faramir had flushed bright red, his body immobile with one hand flat on Frodo's belly. A strangled grunt escaped from Faramir's lips as he struggled to speak, though Frodo had no earthly idea what it was the man was trying to say. Probably better not to know.

Merry recovered first, if recovery was the word for it. "Oh … well … if everything's all right." His eyes twinkled as though he was suppressing a laugh. A single snort burst out from Pippin.

Frodo bit his lip and nodded. Flapping a hand at them, he whispered, "Go away."

As the three shuffled backwards through the door, Merry drew his hand up to his mouth, pointing to its corner and smiling at Faramir. "What are you doing?" Pippin whispered, craning his head around Merry's shoulder for a last gawk.

"Sshh," hissed Merry. "I'll tell you in a minute." He shut the door quietly.

Faramir groaned and flopped on his back, shaking fingers wiping away the drops of white seed clinging to the corner of his mouth. Frodo leaned over him and stroked his head, feeling little beads of sweat on his forehead. Pressing his lips tightly together, he tried mightily not to laugh. Oh, but he wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh. The look of horror on Faramir's face had been priceless.

Frodo heard doors closing--Sam returned to his room, Merry and Pippin to the room they shared. After a moment, loud snorts of laughter drifted through the adjoining wall--and a few high-pitched moans though those broke down after a second or two into more shrieks of laughter. Frodo shook his head and smiled as he recognized Pippin's voice in those mimicking moans.

When Frodo looked down at Faramir, the man just shook his head helplessly, still blushing furiously. Frodo finally gave in and collapsed on Faramir's chest, laughing like a drain. After a second, Faramir joined him, tears running down his face.

After they regained a little of their equilibrium, Frodo leaned away to snuff out the bed side light. He snuggled back on Faramir's chest and slipped his hand down to hold Faramir's soft member.

Faramir whispered, "Oh, no … no more … please … if I couldn't before …"

It was impossible not to laugh again, but Frodo contained himself quickly. He kissed Faramir on the corner of his mouth and settled against the man's chest, his hand curved once again around the velvety softness of Faramir's member.

* * *

In the middle of the dark night, Frodo woke to feel Faramir pushing him on his back, spreading his thighs wide. Half awake, he gasped when Faramir's oil-slick hardness pushed into him. He tensed a moment as the thick invasion began, and then relaxed when they lay fully joined. Oh, he always loved that glorious moment when Faramir rested quietly inside him--before he began his urgent thrusts.

Faramir drew himself up on the palms of his hands, high above Frodo with the hobbit's hands curled around his arms. He panted, his hips still motionless though he groaned softly. His hard, hard length twitched inside Frodo though he had not even begun to thrust.

After a long minute, Frodo twisted impatiently. Faramir pulled his member away slowly until it was almost completely out of Frodo. When he stayed that way, Frodo thought he would go mad from the pressure of the thick head just barely inside him.

With a cry, Faramir thrust hard, his seed flowing even as he pushed inward. His hips pressed against Frodo's bottom as he thrust with tiny movements, his seed pulsing over and over. Frodo gloried in every jerk, every spurt of warm wetness spreading inside him.

Faramir sank down on Frodo and slipped out of him, his member still half-hard against Frodo's thigh. He buried his face in Frodo's throat as the hobbit wrapped his arms around his lover's broad shoulders and soothed his neck with gentle fingers. Finally, Faramir lifted away, pushing Frodo on his side and spooning up behind him, lightly brushing Frodo's nipples. "So hungry for you … spent the last two days hard. Do you know how uncomfortable that is … sitting on a horse for hours hard like that?"

Frodo laughed lightly. "Better now?"

"Mm hmm." Faramir's drowsy voice trailed away as he fell asleep with his arm around Frodo's waist. Frodo followed him into sleep a few minutes later, his bottom throbbing pleasantly. As he sank into his slumber, he still felt that one deep thrust, Faramir's seed warm in him. He was home.

* * *

"No, really … I must get back to the Tower and see Aragorn."

"Why? Is he waiting for you?"

"Well … nooo."

"Then stay and at least have breakfast with me before you go."

"Oh, no, thank you. I'll eat later … odd, but I'm not hungry at all."

Unfortunately, Faramir's stomach chose that moment to dispute his firm assertion with a loud and prolonged rumble. As his stomach gurgled away, Frodo started back from where he was sitting next to Faramir on the bed.

Frodo arched an eyebrow. "Ah … is that a Man sound to express lack of appetite?"

Faramir blushed--kicked himself inside for blushing. It seemed that he had done nothing but flush bright red ever since those dratted friends of Frodo had burst in on them last night and caught them in such an unseemly position.

Jumping off the bed, Frodo faced Faramir with his hands on his hips and tapped one furry foot on the floor. "Well … I'm waiting."

Faramir sighed heavily in defeat. "Yes, I believe I might be hungry after all … a little," he mumbled ungraciously. A new thought struck him, and he looked at Frodo hopefully. "You could have a servant bring our breakfast up here."

"Whatever for?"

To that, Faramir had no answer--at least no answer he was able to give and not feel an utter dunce. To what depths had his love for Frodo sunk him? He, the Steward of Gondor (at least for now, he thought with a quick pang), had been turned into a skulking coward by three creatures who barely reached his chest. It was an insupportable grievance.

He sighed again and stood up with slumped shoulders. "All right." He set his mouth into a grim line. "Let's go and get this over with."

Frodo laughed. "Why, you're frightened, aren't you?"

After spluttering for a long second, Faramir conceded the point. "Yes."

"Well, don't worry … I'll protect you from them. You can hide behind me … er … though not very well. Come on. They won't eat you."

* * *

Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Gandalf were seated around the dining room table, the remains of their breakfast strewn about them. They all greeted Faramir and Frodo as the lovers entered the room and sat down. Faramir helped Frodo up onto the tall chair and arranged a pillow under him.

Frodo asked, "What's for breakfast? That is, if you haven't eaten everything in the house already."

Chuckling, Gandalf replied, "Well, they tried to … such greedy creatures, Faramir, you've no idea. But I think we might talk cook into fixing you something. What would you like?"

A house servant approached and nodded as Faramir and Frodo told her what they wanted--eggs, bacon, toasted bread, and fresh fruit would do.

After the servant left the room for the kitchen, they all sat silently for a moment. Faramir cursed inwardly as he felt his face grow hot once more. He darted little glances around the table, his face reddening even more as he saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin eyeing him curiously. Thankfully, they made no mention of the previous night.

If Faramir thought the bright-eyed stares of the hobbits were embarrassing, it was nothing compared to what he felt when he turned his eyes on Gandalf. The wizard was sitting back comfortably with that wizardly glint in his sharp eyes that did not bode well for Faramir. "Oh, no," he thought. "That's all I need … that dreadful wizard picking away at me until he finds out everything."

Fortunately for Faramir, Frodo chose that moment to come to his rescue.

"Tell us about your trip."

"Oh, yes … of course." Faramir tried to remember the long conversations he had had with Hallas, but his mind went utterly blank. "It was very nice," he finally said lamely.

Faramir had not thought he would bless one of Frodo's friends, but he did when Pippin spoke up. "Will you be near the Sea when you go to Umbar?"

"Ah! The Sea. Yes, the City of the Corsairs sits overlooking the Bay of Umbar. Hallas has a fine home there, or so he tells me. We will stay with him, at least at first."

"Oh, you'll like that, won't you, Frodo?"

Frodo spoke eagerly. "Yes! I've always wanted to see the Sea."

"Then you'll see it soon," said Faramir fondly. "Hallas told me that the people like to sail in the Bay … they have many boats and ships they take out on the water. Would you like to do that?"

"I … I guess so. Though I've not much experience with boats."

The servant bringing their breakfast broke in on their conversation as she placed hot plates fragrant with eggs and bacon in front of them.

As Frodo and Faramir lifted their forks, Gandalf stood up. "Faramir, will you be going back to the Tower soon?"

"Yes, as soon as I finish eating."

"Very good. I will accompany you, but do not rush. I am in no hurry." Gandalf smiled and left the room.

Though Faramir had feared the wizard's probing eyes, he felt a little bereft at being left alone with those three nosy hobbits. The best thing for it was to eat quickly and make his escape before--before one of them got up his nerve and started asking indiscreet questions. Even worse, they might decide to start making sly comments about mysterious liquids on the corner of his mouth. With that appalling thought firmly in mind, he shoveled his food into his mouth quickly, barely tasting the fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon--feeling those bright eyes on him all the while. Yes, he would keep his head down except for a quick look over at Frodo. Well, Frodo would be no help. His lover was clearly oblivious to the curious looks being cast at them. "Hmph," thought Faramir, glaring at the hobbit inhaling his food with a little smile curving his lips. "Put a plate of food in front of a hobbit, and it would take an explosion to grab his attention. Why didn't I insist on eating in Frodo's room?"

It was Sam who broke the silence. "Did you sleep well, Prince Faramir? You must have been right tired from your trip."

"Sshh," hissed Merry. Faramir looked up and saw his worst fears realized as the three gawked at him with their memories of last night written clearly in their faces. Silence extended through the room, and still Sam, Merry, and Pippin gaped at him wide-eyed.

The three started visibly when Faramir broke into loud laughter. Oh, what was the use? Might as well give in to it--probably be much more pleasant that way.

Pippin snorted and then collapsed into laughter, pounding his fist on the table. Merry, Sam, and Frodo joined him. Yes, it was better this way.

Finally, Merry cleared his throat and managed to say, "Oh … the look on your face last night …" Laughter claimed him again, and Faramir was glad of it.

Faramir's laughter turned into choking as he made the mistake of trying to eat a bite of toast. A dry crumb slid down his throat the wrong way, and the next thing he knew he was gasping for breath. Sam jumped up and ran to Faramir, pounding him on the back helpfully.

When Faramir regained control of his breathing, he leaned back against his chair and smiled at Sam. "Thank you."

Sam nodded and returned to his chair. Though Faramir thought he might be ready to eat a little more, instead he found himself dissolving into giggles again. Oh, dear, now that he had started, he couldn't stop. Well, if he had to laugh uncontrollably, hobbits were surely the best people to keep him company while he did it since they joined in so wholeheartedly.

Gandalf swept back into the room and stopped abruptly just inside the door. "What's this? What are these hobbits tormenting you with?"

When his comment provoked another gale of laughter, Gandalf stared at them in amazement, for once wordless.

Frodo said wisely, "You had to be there."

"Hmph." The wizard raised his eyebrows. When no one seemed inclined to give him any information--which pleased Faramir not a little bit--Gandalf raised his chin and spoke in his loftiest voice. "Well, if you're all finished with … whatever it was … are you ready to go, Faramir?"

"Oh, I think so." Faramir stood quickly and looked down at Frodo. "Will you come to my rooms later?"

"Mm hmm."

Faramir bent down and kissed Frodo lightly on the mouth. "See you later, then." As he walked out of the room, he hesitated at the door and turned around. "Thank you for a most entertaining breakfast, my friends."


	5. chapters 21-25

Chapter 21

_"… The Tree in the Court of the Fountain is still withered and barren. When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?"_

"Turn your face from the green world, and look where all seems barren and cold!" said Gandalf.

Then Aragorn turned, and there was a stony slope behind him running down from the skirts of the snow; and as he looked he was aware there in the waste a growing thing stood. And he climbed to it, and saw that out of the very edge of the snow there sprang a sapling tree no more than three foot high. Already it had put forth young leaves long and shapely, dark above and silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of flowers whose white petals shone like the sunlit snow.

* * *

Sam woke with a jerk. He leaned up on his elbows and listened to quiet footsteps in the hall. Stumbling a little, he got out of bed and made his way in the dark to the door. Opening it, he saw Gandalf at the head of the stairs, a small lamp on the wall casting a faint light on the wizard's head and shoulders. Oh, no. Something must be wrong. Why else would Gandalf be going out in the middle of the night? Perhaps Frodo had been taken ill in the Tower and needed him--needed both of them.

"Gandalf! What's wrong?" Sam said in a hoarse whisper, not wanting to wake Merry and Pippin.

When the wizard turned around, Sam breathed a little easier, for he saw surprise but not worry etched in that aged face.

"Nothing … go back to bed," said Gandalf, his voice a soft rumble.

"But where are you going? Is Frodo all right?"

"Yes … yes. Go back to bed. All is well. Do not worry."

With those brief words, Gandalf moved quickly down the stairs and out the front door. Sam stood and stared at him a moment, relief washing over him that nothing bad had happened to Frodo. Eventually, he went back to bed, yawning as he walked quietly through the hall and into his room. After he lay down and pulled the covers over him, he slapped his forehead and grinned. Gandalf hadn't told him where he was going. Still close, that wizard was.

* * *

The late afternoon was warm and still in the courtyard. The bare branches of the dead tree stood benevolently in front of the company gathered there. Frodo looked around contentedly at his friends--Sam, Merry, Pippin, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, Beregond, and Rian. All of them were there except for Aragorn and Gandalf. Frodo shook off a brief moment of conjecture at where they could be and returned his attention to Rian.

The little girl stood on the bench before the guardian tree. Today her hair floated free around her head in a wheat-colored halo, only slightly untidy. She was drawing to the end of her first public recitation of the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom. Frodo looked around once more and smiled at her attentive audience. How he would miss her bright presence when he and Faramir had gone away.

Frodo came to with a start as the others began a noisy round of applause for the young minstrel. Rian blushed yet bowed deeply, sweeping her hand in front of her before jumping off the bench and running over to Frodo.

"Well? Was it all right?" Her voice was a little breathless and no wonder. It had been a long performance.

For an answer, Frodo hugged her tight.

Pippin found the words that Frodo could not. "Perfect! Why, it was even better than when we heard the minstrel sing it at the Field of Cormallen. Don't you think so, Merry?"

"Absolutely. Not even Bilbo could have done as well … though, I suppose he might have made a few embellishments."

"Bilbo," said Rian. "What a funny name. Who's that?"

Frodo smiled and smoothed Rian's disordered locks from her brow. "He's my cousin … quite a bit older than I am. He loves poetry and songs … is always making up something. How he would have enjoyed your performance." His smile faded a bit as his longing to see Bilbo washed over him.

"Oh, I would like to meet him. Do you think he'll come to Minas Tirith?" asked Rian.

"I … I don't know. Maybe," answered Frodo, though in his heart he suspected the journey would be too much for his aged cousin. But, who knew? Perhaps even now he was making his way toward Gondor.

Turning his attention back to Rian, Frodo smiled at her again. "You're looking very excited … like you're about to jump up and give us a show of acrobatics." When the little girl said nothing, just wriggled a little, Frodo said, "Come on … out with it. Don't you know how unfair it is to keep a secret from a hobbit?"

She laughed. "It's no secret. Uncle Beregond told me that I can come stay with him in Ithilien once he and Prince Faramir are settled there. What do you think of that?"

Frodo nodded but said nothing, the corners of his upturned mouth drooping a little.

"Oh … you must be tired out from all my blather." She took his injured hand and stroked it. "Does it hurt today?"

"No," said Frodo softly. He started at the appraising look the girl gave him, her little chin lifted high. When Pippin dropped down next to them and nudged Frodo, Frodo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where are Gandalf and Aragorn today?" Pippin asked. "Why aren't they here?"

Faramir sat down near Frodo and said, "I don't know. Aragorn has been gone all day. No one knows where he went. His guards said he went out in the middle of the night and would not let any of them accompany him. It's odd."

Sam called across the lawn. "He must have gone with Gandalf. I saw Gandalf go out in the middle of the night … woke up and saw him leave. I asked him where he was off to."

"What did he say?" asked Merry.

Sam snorted. "Told me to go back to bed, he did."

"That figures," said Pippin. At that, they all shook their heads and chuckled.

"Well, my friends, here you all are."

Frodo looked across the courtyard and saw none other than Aragorn walking toward them, Gandalf following close behind. In his hand, Aragorn carried a sapling carefully.

Jumping up, Sam ran over to Aragorn. "You found it!"

"Yes, Sam," said Aragorn fondly. "I have indeed … thanks to Gandalf's help."

"Where?" Sam ran his hands lightly over the delicate leaves, exclaiming in wonder over their shape and hue.

"High on the mountain, in the snow. Will you help me with it? It needs to be wrapped in something and kept a little damp to keep it well before we plant it." Aragorn chuckled. "Not that I need to tell you that."

"Ah, you want a bit of burlap, I think … and some soil to pack around it as well."

"Yes, of course. Here … take it."

When Aragorn held the sapling out to Sam, the gardener took it carefully in his hands, his fingers stroking its smooth gray bark tenderly.

Beregond approached them. "Come on, Sam," he said. "I know where to find some."

"All right." Sam followed the Guard out of the courtyard, holding the sapling carefully above the ground.

Aragorn and Gandalf settled on the bench. The others gathered around them except for Frodo and Faramir, who stayed a little distance away on the lawn.

Merry asked, "And the old tree?"

"We shall have it uprooted and taken to the Hallows, where it will rest among the Kings of Gondor. I would like you and Pippin … and Legolas and Gimli … to be among the company that escorts it to its resting place. Will you, my friend?"

Merry nodded.

"Good." Aragorn turned around and looked at the old tree for a long minute before facing the company again. "And then we shall have a fine planting ceremony. Do you think I might prevail on Sam to help me plant the sapling?"

Pippin snorted. "I think you might. Probably have to tie his hands behind his back to stop him."

"Yes, indeed … though there will be no need for that."

Frodo listened to his friends discuss the celebrations that would be held for the old tree and its heir. After a minute, he turned and smiled at Faramir.

The young man drew closer to Frodo and said, "Well, things are moving now. It won't be too much longer, I think, until it is time to take Theoden back to Rohan."

"Yes," said Frodo, licking his lips nervously. "Will you go there?"

"Yes. I must tell her in person … not do it with a cowardly letter."

"Of course. I understand. Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Oh, yes. And you?"

"Yes."

Faramir looked across the courtyard a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "I think you should stay here while I'm gone. It will be better that way."

Frodo sat up straight and looked Faramir in the eye. "No."

"Please, Frodo. It will be difficult enough as it is."

"Have you forgotten that when Theoden is taken to Rohan, all my friends will go with him … and from there back home? Would you have me say goodbye to them here?"

Faramir stroked Frodo's shoulder. "I had not thought of that. Forgive me. Of course you must come."

"Good. Also … Eowyn might wish to speak with me. I would not have her think me a coward for staying away."

"Perhaps … though it seems very likely that my stay in Rohan will be very short once I tell her … which means that your stay will be just as short."

"I know. Still … I will come with you."

Faramir nodded briefly. "Come … let us join the others."

* * *

The old tree was laid to rest with as much reverence and grace as if it had been a very King of Gondor. The path to the Hallows--along the streets of the Citadel leading down to the sixth level, to Fen Hollin where Aragorn received the key and opened the gate into Rath Dinen--was lined with the King's Guards. All was silent except for the sounds of boots ringing against the stone and the dry branches brushing lightly against the walls of the City.

When the company of the old tree--Aragorn, Faramir, Beregond, Gandalf, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli--returned to the courtyard, Frodo and Sam stood waiting for them. The sapling lay on the bench waiting for its new home, Frodo holding it up gently so that its leaves were not bruised. Sam had been busy preparing the soil for it.

Aragorn spoke. "Are you ready, Sam?"

"Yes." Sam walked to the sapling and cut away the burlap protecting its roots. Frodo stepped back and joined the others on the lawn.

"Faramir, will you help me and Sam?" asked Aragorn.

Nodding his assent, the Steward moved forward to join his King and the little gardener of the Shire. Frodo held his breath as he watched the three place the sapling in the ground. Sam knelt down, spreading its roots carefully so they would have room to dig deep and true. Faramir and Aragorn held the descendant of Nimloth straight while Sam covered the tender roots with soil, packing it down lightly.

Frodo could not tear his eyes away from Faramir and Aragorn as they stood on either side of the sapling, Steward and King doing their duty with pride and love shining from their eyes. His vision clouded a little as he watched them step back and clap each other on the shoulder, their task complete. It seemed to Frodo that he was looking far back now--that he was gazing at the long race of Numenor that ran so far back in time that he could not reckon it, only knew that it was true and fine. Yes, it had survived fine and true through years of toil and danger when the line of Kings had been hidden away yet always kept in trust by the line of Stewards. Now those two lines were joined again in Aragorn and Faramir.

Frodo started a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he looked into Gandalf's eyes, the usual glint softened into compassion. "Are you sure?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes."

Gandalf squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "I will help you all I can."

"I know." Frodo nodded, smiled though his lips trembled in the effort. "You always do. Thank you." Straightening his shoulders, he walked across the lawn to congratulate the three on the fine job they had made planting the sapling. He knew now what he had to do--only hoped he had the strength to do it.

* * *

Chapter 22

It was a fine, hot morning a few days past Midsummer--past Aragorn and Arwen's wedding. Faramir smiled as he guided his horse down a narrow, tree-lined road with the gentle pressure of his knees. He finally understood what Aragorn had meant when he had told Faramir that he still waited for the most important part of his happiness. When Faramir had seen Arwen stand before Aragorn and place her hand in his, he understood and was glad of heart. Now Aragorn and Arwen were enjoying their honeymoon, though it would be brief considering the plans to take Theoden back to Rohan.

Yes, Aragorn and Arwen were on their honeymoon--as were Frodo and Faramir, though Faramir had not told him yet. Neither had Faramir told the hobbit where they were going, which had exasperated Frodo more than a little bit. Faramir grinned as he remembered the look of sleepy irritation on Frodo's face when Faramir had awoken him before dawn. Frodo's exasperation had continued while he grumbled about being flung on a horse and taken who knew where. Well, Faramir knew where they were going--hoped Frodo would like it. Everything should have been set up by now, his servants gone away to leave them completely alone.

Faramir looked down at Frodo sleeping against his chest, the hobbit's curly head resting in the crook of his arm. Frodo had sat up straight as they had left the City, its roads busy with carts and people walking and on horseback. They had been riding for a few hours now, each hour finding less and less people on the road until finally they were alone and Frodo had relaxed against Faramir and fallen asleep with a last mumbled complaint.

When Faramir dropped a kiss on Frodo's head, the hobbit woke and stretched. Faramir shifted in the saddle and gasped from a certain soreness in his bottom.

Frodo looked up and laughed. "What's the matter?"

"You know well what it is," Faramir answered, blushing.

Frodo's laughter quieted though he still grinned widely. "Now you know how it feels."

"Indeed I do."

"Don't worry, it'll get easier. Trust me. I speak from experience." Frodo turned and leaned his head against Faramir's arm, shaking a little from laughing again.

"Easier!" Faramir thought. "Oh, dear, he'll want to do it again." He wriggled a little against the saddle and thought he rather liked the tenderness. Oh, yes, Frodo would want to do that to him again, and he would welcome it.

* * *

At mid-morning, Faramir turned down a narrow track overgrown with brush, though it had been cleared a little recently. Faramir was grateful that his servants had thought to do that. A mile or so down the track, they came upon a small lodge set among the trees. As he had expected, there was no one there.

Guiding his horse close to the lodge, Faramir shook Frodo lightly. "We're here."

Frodo sat up and looked around. Turning to Faramir, he asked, "But where is 'here'?"

Laughing, Faramir jumped off his horse. He helped Frodo down and said, "My father's hunting lodge. Boromir and I used to come here quite often, though not in a long while. I thought we could have a few days to ourselves here, though … I did not think … does it bother you that Boromir came here?"

Frodo pulled Faramir down and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. "It's perfect."

"I thought … well, Aragorn and Arwen are on their honeymoon …" Faramir hid his face against Frodo's neck until he felt gentle fingers pushing him back.

"And this is ours?"

Faramir nodded. "I know we cannot wed … it would not be allowed. This is as close as I can come to make a wedding for us." Faramir melted at the tender look in Frodo's eyes. Surely, he would find all his happiness in looking in those loving eyes for the rest of his life. "Is it all right?"

"Better than all right. Thank you." Frodo traced his fingers over Faramir's face so softly that Faramir barely felt them. The gentle kisses that followed were even softer until Faramir captured Frodo's lips with his own and they stayed pressed together under the hot sun of the Gondor summer.

Drawing back, Faramir stood up. Frodo asked, "What shall we do here?"

Faramir shrugged his shoulders and said, "Anything we want … even that dreadful thing you did to me last night."

Frodo pressed his lips together, his hands on his hips. "Are you saying you didn't like it? I seem to recall more than one moan that didn't sound like you wanted me to stop."

"That I didn't." Faramir caressed Frodo's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Come on, then. Let's look inside." They walked toward the lodge. "Oh … I forgot one thing."

"Yes?" Frodo smiled crookedly. "I hope it wasn't the oil."

"Oh, no … never that. No … just one rule I forgot to mention."

Frodo raised his eyebrows in mock alarm. "And that would be?"

"No talk of the past … no worrying about the future … just 'now'. Do you agree?"

"Yes. I like that."

"I thought you might." Faramir had hoped Frodo would like it, though he had not been sure. There had been something in the hobbit's eyes and embrace the past few weeks--some hint of desperation that frightened Faramir. It had come after the planting of the tree. Faramir had questioned Frodo repeatedly until the hobbit finally had become angry and told him to quit his pestering--that Faramir was reading too much into what was mere tiredness and worry about what would happen in Rohan. Faramir had accepted Frodo's explanation outwardly, though it had continued to niggle away at him.

The delight in Frodo's voice and eyes banished all Faramir's worries. Yes, they would abide by this one rule for a few days.

Holding Frodo's shoulder lightly, they walked into the lodge, its front door already open in welcome for them. Frodo moved away from Faramir and stepped slowly around the one rough-timbered room--stroking the velvet cushions that lay scattered on the floor, running his fingers lightly over the flowers that had been placed in many vases, pressing his palms against the silk-covered bed. After a few minutes--when Frodo still stood with his face turned away from his lover--Faramir grew nervous again.

"Frodo?"

There were tears in Frodo's eyes when he turned around--tears of joy. Faramir breathed a sigh of relief and walked to Frodo, kneeling next to him and taking his small hands in his own.

"You're my heart, Frodo. Am I yours?" Faramir asked.

Frodo looked into Faramir's eyes with such a clear look of love that it pierced Faramir straight to his soul. "Yes," Frodo answered. "Always … no matter what happens. You're my heart, Faramir."

And so, with those simple words and the gentle clasp of hands, their hearts were wed, and Faramir was content.

* * *

"Oh! What's this?" Frodo turned around and looked excitedly at Faramir.

They had walked through a little path behind the lodge, pushing aside fragrant bushes and flowering plants. Coming into a clearing, they saw two rocky pools separated by a hundred feet or so, the hanging boughs of trees shading part of each one. Wisps of steam rose from one of the pools.

"Ah," answered Faramir. "My favorite place here. The pool at the left is heated. Warm water bubbles up from some underground stream. You'll see … the water in it is a little salty and cloudy. The other one was made by a past Steward and has to be filled with water from a nearby stream. There is a sluice at the back of it that can be opened and closed as needed. I see my servants have prepared it for us. We can stay in the warm one until we grow too hot and then cool off in the other one. The warm one is very nice to sit in during a summer night."

"Some past Steward … don't suppose you recall which one?" Frodo said.

Faramir reached out his hand to gently cuff Frodo, but the hobbit was too quick for him. Frodo ran across the clearing toward the heated pool and dipped his toes into it. "Oh! It's ever so warm. Come on!"

"Hold on. Let me go back and get a few things. Be back in a minute."

Faramir raced back to the lodge, laughing when the encroaching brush tangled in his clothes. Entering the lodge, he stumbled around the room looking for a few things vital to their enjoyment of the afternoon--towels and a blanket or two to lie on, a flask of oil, and food. Yes, food was certainly a necessity where hobbits were concerned, even one so rare as Frodo.

Going a little more slowly back to the clearing, the store of goods balanced precariously in his arms, Faramir stopped at the clearing's edge. He stood quietly for a minute and watched Frodo. The hobbit did not see him, for he had his back turned to Faramir. But Faramir saw Frodo. He drank in the hobbit's naked beauty--narrow curving back, rounded backside that he loved to stroke, slim hips tapering to slender legs ending in those ridiculous feet that did nothing but enhance his pale loveliness. Faramir was grateful for the overhanging boughs that would protect Frodo's fair skin. It would not do to have him sunburned on their honeymoon!

Glancing back, Frodo waved at Faramir. "Come on!" Faramir started forward, blessing the wide look of joy on Frodo's face. Come what may, he would spend his life making sure that expression lived long and true in Frodo's eyes. Faramir joined Frodo at the pool and kneeled to set down all the things he had brought.

"Did you bring the entire lodge with you?" Frodo asked, leaning forward and kissing the tip of Faramir's nose.

"I could take back a few things … say, the food?"

"Oh, no you don't." Frodo snatched up a bowl of strawberries and held them away from Faramir. "Come on. Get undressed."

"Very well … if you insist." Faramir shed his clothes quickly and held his hand out to Frodo. Hand in hand, they stepped into the pool. "See? There are stones laid down to form steps around the perimeter."

"Good … then it won't be too deep for this hobbit."

"If it is, you can sit on me."

"Oh, I plan to sit on you, deep or not."

* * *

"Are you hungry, hobbit?" Faramir nuzzled Frodo's throat as they lay on the grass near the heated pool. A sharp rumble from said hobbit's stomach gave Faramir his answer even before Frodo spoke.

"I should say so, considering the meager breakfast you threw at me before we left Minas Tirith. What have we got?"

"Oh, a few things you might like." Faramir knelt and reached over to the store of food he had brought, sweeping it toward them. He tapped a small covered dish. "How about this?"

Frodo sat up and took the dish in his hands. Faramir watched him uncover it, the hobbit's eyes widening with surprised pleasure. "Clotted cream! Oh, Faramir, where ever did you get it?"

"I have my sources."

Dipping his finger into the dish, Frodo licked away the thick cream before looking sideways at Faramir with that hint of mischief that always delighted Faramir. "And does this source have a name, pray tell?"

"Ah … Samwise I believe his name is."

"Oh!"

Faramir grinned. "Yes, he made that up for me a couple of days ago and gave it to my servants to bring here."

"You are a sneaky one … Sam, too. But you! Here I thought the men of Gondor were open and honest in all things."

"Yes … yes … but you do forgive me, don't you?"

"I believe I do. What shall I put it on?"

"Strawberries? Scones?"

"Scones too?"

"Of course. This is a hobbity sort of honeymoon, you know."

Frodo set the dish down and pushed Faramir flat to the ground. When he rubbed his face down Faramir's chest, the man groaned, his member twitching and lengthening against his belly. "What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Why should I waste this perfectly good cream on strawberries and scones?"

Faramir sighed and lay back, closing his eyes in anticipation. Soon, fingers cool with the thickened cream stroked him, covering his hardness. He bucked when he felt Frodo starting to lick it off, the hobbit's tongue moving so delicately that it barely grazed the man's flesh.

"You're hardly touching me," he said.

Frodo laughed. "Be still." When Faramir obeyed, Frodo continued his light licking, swirling his tongue around the swollen head of Faramir's member until he could bear it no longer and pushed up.

"Please … Frodo …"

Faramir thought he might explode right then and there when Frodo finally took his lover's member into his mouth and sucked hard, once. Frodo removed his mouth once again, and Faramir groaned. How much longer would he have to endure this torment? He grasped the back of Frodo's head and pressed it to his belly. Frodo finally took pity on the poor man, rubbing his face up and down Faramir's length, his small hands circling it tightly while he licked hard at the tip slick and sticky with more than one type of cream.

The sun was so hot on Faramir's body, yet Frodo's mouth was hotter. The hobbit's tongue moved faster now, tasting and sucking, dipping into the little slit. When Frodo slipped one hand between Faramir's cheeks and pressed his fingers deep inside to find that little spot that gave so much pleasure--felt by Faramir for the first time the night before--Faramir threw his head back and screamed. Every nerve in his body vibrated to the wet mouth encircling him and the busy fingers stroking him inside. He clenched his hands into the grass, tearing at it as he arched his back and spent himself in his lover's welcoming mouth.

Faramir fell back and gasped for air, sweat trickling down his chest. When he opened his eyes and looked at Frodo, he laughed. The hobbit raised his head from Faramir's belly and quirked his eyebrows in question.

"I think you need a dip in cool water," said Faramir. He rubbed his thumb against Frodo's messy mouth and sun-kissed cheeks.

"Not so fast … do you think you're going to get away from doing your share of the work around here?" Frodo asked, his tongue flicking around his mouth, lapping up stray bits of …

Faramir shook his head. "Sorry … how ungrateful of me."

Lying back against the grass, Frodo said, "Sorry? Show me how much."

"Yes, sir." Faramir pulled the bowl of cream close to hand and began to stroke Frodo's hip lightly.

Frodo stopped him with a hand wrapped around the man's wrist.

"What is it? Have you changed your mind?" asked Faramir.

"No … how many more days do we have here? You never said."

"A week or so … and that's all the talk of the future there will be."

Frodo dropped his hand and closed his eyes in contentment. "That long? I was afraid we might have to go back tomorrow."

"Sshh … be quiet now." Frodo lay still though not for long as Faramir took his turn at pleasuring the hobbit. Soon cries filled the air again--light hobbity cries of delight that filled Faramir's senses with joy.

* * *

Chapter 23

"We packed too many things, didn't we?" asked Frodo.

"What?" Faramir raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Clothes."

Faramir laughed in delight. It was true. What with the weather so hot and the utter privacy around them, they'd had no need of clothes. In truth, they had worn nothing except for towels draped around their waists every now and then. They had spent the lazy summer days at the pools or wandering hand in hand around the clearing as naked as the day they had been born. Faramir liked nothing better than to stop and wait while Frodo walked ahead of him, watching the play of lean muscles on his back and legs until the hobbit turned back and beckoned to him with the wide smile that shined on his face every day.

Indeed, though it was early evening, they were still unclad. Frodo stood on a little stool in front of a rough wooden table preparing their dinner. It was just a simple dinner of bread and fruit and ham and cheese, the clotted cream having been devoured one way or another. Faramir sat at the table watching his lover slice the bread and set out the fruit--apples that the servants had stocked the larder with and blackberries they had found in the thickets surrounding their glade.

When Frodo reached for the cheese, Faramir reached across the table and encircled the hobbit's wrist.

Frodo laughed and shook off the man's hand. "What are you doing? Don't you want any cheese?"

"I do … but not in those miserly little parings that you dole out. Don't see how you can even get a taste that way."

"It tastes much better that way … rather than those big chunks that stick in my teeth. Though … I suppose I might cut a few of them for you like that."

"You're too kind."

"Yes, I know. It's a character flaw of mine."

* * *

The night was quiet and warm as it had been every night since they had arrived. They sat cross-legged on the bed with the chess game spread out between them.

"I'm not so sure it was a good idea to bring this … don't know why I put it in my pack," said Faramir as Frodo brought the man's king into peril once more with a move that Faramir had not anticipated. "You've learned too quickly, my friend."

Frodo stuck out his tongue. "That's what you get for leaving me to play with Gandalf after you ran away from me."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Faramir said, "Well, if this is all the punishment I get for that, I am content with it." He slid his king one square.

"It is … your punishment, that is. Checkmate … hey!" Frodo's cry of surprise was muffled as a pillow struck him soundly on the head.

Frodo wriggled under Faramir, the man's fingers digging into his ribs until Frodo gasped with laughter. "Wait! The pieces are … my backside. Ouch!"

Pulling the hobbit up off the mattress, Faramir removed the offending pieces that were indeed pressed into Frodo's flesh. He rubbed at the red marks, soothing Frodo's bottom. Sitting up, the two quickly placed the pieces in the little box that Frodo never tired of examining. Snapping the box shut, Faramir put it on the bed side table and, in its place, took the little flask they both liked better than chess pieces or cheese or even clotted cream.

"What are you doing?" asked Frodo, looking sidelong at Faramir and smirking. "Isn't it your turn?"

Faramir pressed Frodo into the mattress and nipped his tightening nipple. "I thought you said my only punishment was to lose at chess." He sighed loudly and lay back, spreading his thighs as Frodo crawled between them. "As you wish. Just …"

"What?"

"Be gentle."

* * *

"No … not again …"

Faramir woke with a start to find Frodo twisting on the bed and moaning lightly. He shook the hobbit lightly by the shoulder and pulled him close against his chest.

"No … don't …" Frodo's voice rose in panic as he struggled against Faramir's encircling arms.

"Sshh … I'm here. I'll not let you go."

"Please … no … don't … it hurts."

"Your shoulder?"

Frodo whimpered a little, but he stopped struggling. "Yes." The hobbit lay on his back against Faramir's chest and shivered violently, cold sweat beading his face. Faramir straightened the disordered covers around them, pulling them tight around Frodo's shoulders. Rocking them gently, he closed his hand on Frodo's shoulder and rubbed lightly, crooning wordlessly for words were useless at times like this. Only his body could reach Frodo and soothe him--draw the shadows back for a time. Slowly, Frodo stopped shivering and nuzzled his head against Faramir's throat. Faramir watched him patiently, barely daring to breathe until he saw the hobbit's eyelids grow heavy again with sleep.

* * *

They lay on the grass between the pools, the sun beating down hotly on them. Faramir smiled at how brown Frodo had become in the past week. He had not burned, just turned a light, rosy tan. But today the dark circles had returned to Frodo's eyes from his disturbed night.

Faramir asked softly, "Are you better?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"What do you mean?"

When Frodo's brows drew together in perplexity, Faramir smoothed them with one gentle finger. "Just what I said. Tell me … how it felt … what you were thinking … what it reminded you of … just everything. Please."

Frodo leaned up and smiled. "Won't that break our rule?"

"That's what rules are for … to be broken on occasion. And don't distract me …you'll not get out of it so easily."

Faramir drew closer to Frodo and wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back lightly. Frodo's voice was hesitant at first. When he looked down, Faramir said, "Look at me."

Frodo did as he was told. His voice grew stronger as he told Faramir all about the dreams that pursued him. "Hooves … I always hear horses' hooves … they're so loud that they drown out everything else. I … I know I need to get away but I can't move … can't speak. It's as though I'm being pulled into the ground. I usually wake … or you wake me … just before they find me." His voice trailed away into a whisper. "Or … sometimes it's different."

"Different … how?" Faramir stroked Frodo's cheek, dismayed to find him trembling. Pulling the hobbit closer, he waited for Frodo to continue.

"Sometimes I'm there again … in the mountain and it's so hot and all I want to do is put it on. I cannot help it."

"Cannot help what?"

"Still wanting it. I claimed it, and now it's gone." When Frodo looked away again, it seemed to Faramir that he was somehow ashamed.

Faramir cupped Frodo's chin and pulled it up. He waited while Frodo darted his eyes back and forth before finally meeting Faramir's. Though he felt his heart sink at the fear and shame in Frodo's eyes, Faramir kept his gaze calm and steady. "And you think that's your fault?"

Frodo nodded, just once.

"Listen to me." Faramir's eyes bore desperately into Frodo's, willing his lover to hear him--truly hear him and believe. "It is not your fault. Do you not know what you did … what no one else would or could do?"

Frodo shook his head.

Faramir pushed Frodo down on the ground and took his head in his hands, stroking Frodo's neck gently. "Listen to me, love. Think of how long you bore it … what injuries you sustained … you and Sam all alone with none of us to aid you." Faramir stopped a minute to swallow the lump that thickened in his throat. "Everyone else either refused it, at the Council or later … including myself … or tried to take it from you, even my own brother. Only you bore it and resisted it as long as you needed to."

"But I didn't … claimed it in the end. I failed."

"You did not fail. You got it to the Sammath Naur, and it was destroyed. It is useless to question the means."

Frodo's eyes grew distant; the remoteness frightened Faramir. The hobbit pulled away and rolled on his side, curling into a little ball. Finally, Frodo spoke again in a voice so soft that Faramir had to bend close to hear it. "I know. Everyone tells me I did well, and I believe them for the most part. It's just … at night sometimes when I wake …"

"Tell me." Faramir rested his cheek against Frodo's head and waited for him to continue. He would wait forever--give Frodo the time he needed.

"I feel so empty … like there's nothing left of me."

Faramir tightened his hands around Frodo's waist but said nothing. It was not enough--his love was not enough and never would be. Cursing inwardly, he shook away his vain thoughts. Giving into despair was no way to help Frodo.

"You must give it more time, love. I do not know if it will ever pass away completely, but please try."

Frodo shifted in Faramir's arms, opening his throat to Faramir's nuzzling mouth. "I'm sorry. It's not so bad … most of the time."

"Have you been keeping it from me?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Faramir winced as he saw Frodo start at the little crack in his voice.

"I don't know … don't want to burden you with it. You have your own pain."

"Which is nothing compared to yours. And I do not hide mine from you … though …"

"What?" Frodo's gaze sharpened. "Though what?"

Faramir sighed before he spoke. "The Warden was right. It is passing away for me … feel it seldom now."

Frodo smiled--a brilliant smile that brought tears to Faramir's eyes. "But that is good!" His smile faded. "Surely you don't think …"

"But I do … can't help it. It doesn't seem fair that you should suffer, and my shadows drift away."

"Ridiculous!" Frodo sat up and shook his head, his smile returning. He flopped on his back. "Oh, you don't know how good that makes me feel to know that it's fading for you." Squirming closer to Faramir, he laid his head on his lover's shoulder. "How I love you. Don't hide that from me. It … it gives me hope."

When Faramir tried to pull Frodo even closer, the hobbit jumped up and laughed. "Come on! It's too hot." He ran quickly to the pool fed by the sluice and jumped in. "Oh … it's so cool. Come on!"

* * *

"No … don't." Frodo pushed Faramir's stroking hand away from his stiff member. "I want it to last longer."

Frodo wrapped his legs around Faramir's waist and pulled him down, his knees pressing hard. Yes, Frodo was right. It was their last night at the lodge, and Faramir would make it last as long as he could bear it.

Faramir thrust slowly, his buttocks clenching and unclenching in rhythm with Frodo's moans. When Frodo closed his mouth on Faramir's collar bone and bore down lightly with his teeth, Faramir gasped and moved more quickly. Frodo clutched Faramir's thrusting hips and whispered, "Slow … slower. It feels so good."

Belly rubbing against belly, Faramir slowed his thrusts to almost a standstill. "Like this?" he asked hoarsely, his voice muffled in the sheets above Frodo's head.

"Yes … oh … yes."

Yes, Frodo was right. This slow dance of their joined bodies was best--the dance that had begun all those weeks ago in Faramir's sitting room and would continue all their lives. Though they were joined so tightly that Faramir knew no space between them, he wanted to draw even closer. He slid his arms around Frodo's twisting hips and clasped his bottom with hard, wanton fingers that only made Frodo moan louder and rise up.

On and on they moved--now thrusting hard and true, now circling their hips as though they were but one body, one heart. Faramir lost all sense of time and place. There was only Frodo--his sweet, eager body and soul joined to Faramir's in joy and love. Nothing--neither shadows of pain nor affairs of state--would ever part them. They were one and always would be, no matter what happened. Faramir knew this as clearly as he had known anything in his life.

He did not know how it happened, but they came--together, Faramir pulsing in time with Frodo's clenching muscles, Frodo's seed flowing between them. As the fog cleared a little, Faramir drew his hand to his cheek and wondered at the tears there. He slid down between Frodo's thighs and raised his head to see tears on Frodo's flushed face. They smiled at each other, their lips trembling. All was well on the last night of their honeymoon in the little lodge in the woods.

* * *

Chapter 24

The procession to Edoras moved slowly, for they were many in number and rode at an unhurried pace that befitted the solemn occasion of returning Theoden to his home. Even if the company had thought to move quickly, they were so surrounded by trappings of comfort that they would have been unable to travel at a much faster pace. Frodo had been a little surprised at the careful arrangements made for the comfort of the travelers, though he knew he should not have been. After all, many great folk rode in the company--Elrond and his daughter, the two of them to be parted beyond the bounds of Arda much too soon; Celeborn and Galadriel, watched in awe by the mortals with whom they rode; the King. Frodo laughed a little to himself, wondering how it sat with Aragorn to be so fussed over, considering how simply he had traveled for long years, content with a single cloak to warm him.

A single cloak would not do to shelter the King of Gondor. As a matter of fact, not even a single tent would do. Two entire sets of tents were part of a small traveling city, one moving ahead of the travelers by one day so that they stood ready for them at the end of each day's march.

Though a captain of the Guard was in charge of ensuring the comfort of the travelers and assigning them to their quarters, Frodo knew that Aragorn had had a hand in it. Else, why would Faramir have been lodged with the hobbits? For what seemed the hundredth time, Frodo spoke a little word of thanks in his mind for Aragorn's consideration.

Faramir rode at his side quietly. They had agreed before they had set out from Minas Tirith that it would be best for them not to ride together too often, especially given Eomer's presence. But each day at some point, Faramir had spurred his horse to the hobbit's side, and they had ridden together. They were silent now, Frodo content in Faramir's closeness--that is, as content as he could be considering what awaited them at the end of their journey. As he opened his mouth to ask Faramir when they would arrive, Eomer rode up.

"A fine pony, Master Holbytla."

"Thank you. Aragorn gave him to me when we set out from Minas Tirith."

"What is his name?"

"Strider."

"Ah." Eomer quirked his mouth into a grin. "An odd name … is that a halfing term?"

Frodo smiled fondly down at the pony, patting his neck. "No, not at all. It is one of Aragorn's names … it was how I was introduced to him in the north near my home."

"Indeed. I like that." Reaching down from his perch high atop his horse, he scratched Strider's ears. "Well, we've ridden long days these past couple of weeks. No doubt you'll be glad of a little rest when we arrive tomorrow."

Frodo swallowed hard before forcing his mouth to curve upward. "Yes, I will. We are that close?"

"Oh, yes … you will see the golden roof of Meduseld not long after midday tomorrow." With a glint in his eyes, he gestured with his reins at Faramir. "Though perhaps, brother, you will not break your ride but continue on tonight?"

Frodo went cold inside, wincing at Faramir's answering laugh though he told himself that it was strained and unwilling. He could not help a hot stab of jealousy from flaring up at Faramir's words. "I have considered it, though …"

"Perhaps you will not have to wait," Eomer said. "I will not be too surprised if my sister rides out to meet us … even as far as our campsite this evening. Believe me, her impatience has grown each week she has been parted from you."

Faramir stammered a little as he replied. "I shall welcome her if she does … er … do you really think she will?"

At that, Eomer roared with laughter. "I know not. It would not surprise me."

Frodo's hands felt like two icy claws frozen around his reins. When he cast a quick look sideways at Faramir, he saw the man looking steadily at him though his eyes wore little expression.

"Come, Eomer," said Faramir. "Let us ride forward and join Aragorn. Excuse us, Frodo?"

Before Frodo could nod even once, Faramir spurred his horse into a canter. Eomer followed him after a quick word of farewell to Frodo. The hobbit concentrated on breathing, just breathing in and out, while he watched the two reach the head of the procession. After a minute, he heard Sam ride forward to be next to him. Though his friend said nothing, his presence comforted Frodo--a little.

There had been so little time for Frodo and Faramir to be together on the journey. A part of Frodo was glad of it. Keeping up the pretense that all would be well had been so difficult. So many times in the past weeks he had opened his mouth to tell Faramir; just as many times he had swallowed his words and kept silent.

He did not really know why he had not told Faramir of his decision that they would part and he would return to the Shire. He had concluded that he was selfish for wanting to keep the pleasure and joy as long as he could. In truth, though he had not said anything to Faramir, his lover had seen something in his eyes. Faramir had badgered him until finally Frodo had blazed up in quick anger and demanded to be let alone--told Faramir that he was imagining things. Frodo had lied.

So, he was relieved that they had been able to spend little time together on the long ride from Minas Tirith. When they did ride together, they had not spoken much, content in being next to each other. Only at night were they able to be truly together, though even then they were not completely alone.

Each night, when all grew quiet but for soft snores drifting from Sam's cot, Frodo had gone to Faramir's welcoming arms. As they had during each day's ride, in the night they had spoken little of what awaited them at Edoras. They had used the time to cling tightly to each other, muffling the moans of their desire against mouthfuls of yielding flesh while their hips had pressed and shifted by a bare inch. Before the sun had risen each morning, Frodo had crept back to his own cot in case someone might come into their tent early. Tonight would be the last night.

* * *

Frodo stood at the opening of his tent and watched Faramir across the camp. The man gave the reins of his horse to a Guard. Turning around, he caught sight of Frodo and smiled as he walked toward the tent.

"Come inside," Frodo said to Faramir when the man came close. He motioned to Sam, Merry and Pippin with a quick pass of his hand to stay away. They looked at him in puzzlement but nodded. They did not know. He had not told them. He had not told anyone, though Gandalf had guessed it that afternoon when the sapling had been planted.

Faramir followed Frodo into the tent, letting the flap drop closed. Frodo stood with his back turned to his lover, trying to breathe evenly. Would he even be able to say the words?

"Frodo?" Faramir's voice was soft with perplexity.

Still, Frodo did not turn around. Would he be able to find his voice to say what he needed to say? He heard Faramir's quiet steps approach him. The man's gentle hands turned him around. "What is it?" asked Faramir as he kneeled. He brushed his hand across Frodo's forehead. "You've gone so pale. Do you feel your illness coming on?"

Frodo looked down and shook his head. "No," he whispered and took a deep breath. "I must tell you something." He looked up into Faramir's beloved eyes and found that he did not need to say anything. The expression on Faramir's face moved between bewilderment and confusion into startled understanding--then refusal. He gripped Frodo's shoulders tightly.

"Why?"

"I cannot."

Faramir blinked once and then stared hard, his eyes boring into Frodo's so that the hobbit felt rooted to the ground. "You … 'cannot'? Explain yourself."

Frodo took a deep breath and tried to speak lightly, but his throat had closed up so tightly that he was amazed when any words escaped at all. "It is the right thing to do. Believe me … I've thought long and hard on it. It would not work … even without your troth with Eowyn standing in our way. We would come to hate each other."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it is the truth," Frodo said, his face flushing with his lie. "We are … are too different. I would miss my home too much." His words were lame, and he knew it but could not think of anything more coherent to say.

"I will take you home … have told you that."

"I know. Still … I can't."

"I don't believe you. It can't be that simple." Faramir tightened his hold on Frodo's shoulders, but when he tried to pull the hobbit close, Frodo pushed back with his palms flat on Faramir's chest.

"No. I've told you. I can't. That's all there is to say."

Faramir's eyes went cold and distant, so cold that Frodo almost shivered from the sudden frost. "And when did you decide this? On the road here … it has not been that long a journey … or before now …"

"In Minas Tirith … oh, weeks ago."

Frodo's heart cracked at the twist of pain on Faramir's face that was quickly mastered and quenched by a bleakness that Frodo had never seen. "Yet you let me think … even at the lodge … when we said those words to each other." The hoarseness in Faramir's voice split the crack in Frodo's heart until it shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Forgive me." Frodo clutched at Faramir's sleeve. "We were so happy there … you were so happy … couldn't bear to hurt you."

"Ah … I see. Much better to keep it all inside until the last minute." Faramir shook free of Frodo's grip and dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them into tight fists. "Well, then … you're right, there's little left to say … considering how little you've let me into your confidence all this time." He laughed with a bitterness that sliced deep into Frodo's aching heart. "And here I thought you could not lie … would not lie … not to me, at least." He stood up and backed away toward the tent's opening.

Frodo started forward. "I do love you … please … it's better this way. You'll see in the end."

"How kind of you to decide this for me. Very well … as you wish, my love." Faramir spit out this last endearment, turned, and walked quickly out of the tent. His hands fairly ripped the opening aside.

Frodo ran through the opening and watched him leave. Faramir stopped a few paces away from the tent but did not turn back. After standing still for a moment, he walked slowly and carefully toward where a soldier was preparing to unsaddle his horse. A swift word stopped the Guard, and Faramir swung up lightly into the saddle.

He guided his horse carefully through the encampment, averting his eyes from Frodo as he passed though Frodo willed him to stop, even for just a moment. When he reached the perimeter of the camp, he spurred his horse into a sudden gallop--toward Edoras. Frodo watched him until he disappeared from view. His hands were fisted so tightly that, when he tried to unclench them, he could barely move his fingers. He brought one hand to his chest and thought for a fraction of an astonished second that a broken heart could be felt as physical pain. It hurt so much it took his breath away.

It was done, and he could not--would not--take it back. Surely, Faramir would come to see the wisdom of it, though Frodo knew that he was unlikely ever to know.

* * *

It was a warm summer evening, but Frodo was cold. He sat outside the tent with his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Sam, Merry and Pippin sat with him, keeping up a pretense of cheerful conversation so that others who came upon them did not notice Frodo's distress. Frodo had told them in a few short words what had passed between him and Faramir. Though his mind was clouded with the bitter words that he and Faramir had spoken to each other, he was grateful for his friends' presence and their efforts at keeping up the appearance that this was just another night on their journey to Edoras. He was cold inside and out, but the warmth of his friends' care surrounded him and kept him from disintegrating into nothing.

"Aren't you a little afraid that they'll keep you at Edoras, Merry?" Pippin asked.

"Why should I be?"

"Well, you are a soldier of Rohan … don't think they've released you from duty."

Merry laughed a little; Frodo heard the strain in his chuckle and blessed his friends once more for trying to keep a normal tone.

Though Frodo knew that his friends could keep up the facade with those who did not know them well, he knew that could not happen with others. When Aragorn and Arwen walked up, he knew the game was up. He looked up at Aragorn's face, not even trying to curve his mouth into a welcoming smile.

"What's wrong, Frodo?" Aragorn asked, stooping down to stroke Frodo's forehead. "Are you unwell?"

Frodo did not answer, just shook his head and stood up. He walked into the tent, hearing Merry tell Aragorn in a quiet voice what had happened. Standing in the middle of the tent, he looked around uncertainly. He did not know what to do with his body. Part of him wanted to lie down and sleep long and hard, seeking the forgetfulness of dreamless oblivion. The other part needed to move restlessly about the camp, replaying the conversation that had already worn a furrow in his tired brain. With a sigh, he settled on his cot, his legs drawn up under him in a miserable huddle.

He heard the whisper of the tent's canvas and looked up to see Aragorn and Arwen entering, sadness and sympathy written clearly in their eyes. Oh, he did not want that. He did not know what he wanted.

They knelt down next to Frodo and waited for him to speak. "I did right, didn't I, Aragorn?" he finally asked in a low voice.

"I do not know," came the equally quiet reply. "If it is what you truly believe to be right, then it is."

Frodo startled in amazement. "You really would not have stopped us, would you?" Frodo did not know why he was so surprised. After all, Aragorn had given him and Faramir his support and had never wavered in it.

"No. I would not have stopped you … though you must know that I thought about it long and hard … cannot deny that it is easier for me this way."

Frodo nodded and relapsed into wretched silence. After a long minute, Arwen leaned closer to Frodo.

"There is something I would like to give you, Ringerbearer," she said. "It has long been in my mind that you might make use of it … though I had thought recently that it would not be necessary."

"What is it?" Frodo felt a spark of curiosity, and he smiled at Arwen.

"Help me with it, Estel," she said. She inclined her head and waited as Aragorn drew his hands to the back of her neck and unfastened a silver chain. Reaching her hand into her gown, she drew out a crystal pendant shaped into the form of a star. It glowed with a soft radiance in the tent's dimness, putting to shame the puny light that came from the lanterns placed around the tent. She held it out to Frodo.

Frodo watched it shining with warm fire in her hand and listened to her gentle voice. "You know that I have given up my immortality to stay with Estel … will not go to the Havens. It is a choice that I have made freely … to take the bitter with the sweet. If you like, you may go in my place … if you find your hurts too grievous."

There was some hope for him after all. Frodo had not expected any hope to find him this night, but a tiny flame flared up as he raised his head and looked into the Elven-wise eyes of Aragorn's bride. He nodded once with just a quick lift of his chin and stretched out his hand to receive the pendant. It lay warm and heavy in his hand.

"The gem cannot heal you of your wounds, but it might help to draw back the shadows when they press too closely around you." Arwen took the pendant back from Frodo and fastened it around his neck. "Wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven." (ROTK, "Many Partings")

Frodo struggled to find words to express his gratitude but could not. Instead, he nodded his thanks with eyes full of unshed tears. Aragorn and Arwen pressed gentle kisses on his brow and stood to leave.

"Try to get some sleep," Aragorn said. "Call for us if you need anything tonight."

"I will. Thank you."

Frodo watched the two leave the tent. He sat still for a few minutes longer, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids and his weary muscles. Lying down, he curled into a little ball with his cloak and blanket drawn around him. Finally, he slept, the pendant clutched in his hand.

In the middle of the night, he half woke to feel Faramir slipping under the blanket, spooning up tight around him. Faramir's arms wrapped around him so suddenly that he gasped in surprise. Their bodies curved into the shape that had grown so familiar and right to Frodo in these past weeks.

"I thought you went to Edoras," Frodo whispered.

"No … just had to get away from you for a while."

Frodo had no answer for that and let the silence grow between them, a silence broken only by Faramir's labored breathing in Frodo's ear. It seemed to Frodo that they were dry sobs, but when he reached his hand back to stroke Faramir's cheek, his fingers came away wet. He twisted around and locked his arms around Faramir's neck, pulling his lover's head down onto his shoulder.

"Why?" whispered Faramir.

"That day at the courtyard … the tree … you and Aragorn … I can't break that apart."

"But I am willing … have told you so many times."

"I can't … it's too much. It's wrong."

"Please … don't do this."

"Sshh … just hold me."

But Faramir did not quiet. On and on his soft voice whispered in Frodo's ears, reminding him of the things they had promised each other--pleading for love to win over duty just this once, reasoning that exile in Umbar would not last forever. When his words made no dent against Frodo's resolve, he pressed his mouth against the hobbit's--gently at first, then insistent and hard.

So the long sleepless night passed. Frodo had thought nothing could ever be as difficult as bearing the Ring those long months. It had been hard--so hard that he still barely believed he had done it. As he lay there with his lover pressed close to him for what surely must be the last time, he knew there was something else that was equally difficult. There was nothing so hard as to break the heart of the one you loved most in the world.

* * *

Chapter 25

Swing one leg over the pony, and jump to the ground.

Breathe.

Take one step, and then another.

Squint up at the bright blue sky over Edoras.

Smile in greeting to Eowyn, and watch Faramir embrace her.

Breathe in and out. Do not watch them too closely.

Do not cry. Do not feel.

Look at the ground, and breathe.

Sit quietly at the banquet celebrating your arrival, and pretend to eat.

Speak when spoken to, and try to make sense.

Breathe.

* * *

It seemed to Frodo that he was stumbling through a mist without even the palest gleam of the sun to guide him. When finally he was able to retire to his tent--shared now only with Sam, Merry and Pippin as Faramir was expected to stay at Meduseld--he collapsed onto his cot and thought he would never find the strength to get up again.

He woke the morning after their arrival with a sore throat and slight fever. Never before had he welcomed a cold, but he made a friend of each sniffle, each aching muscle. Now he had an excuse not to go about Edoras--now he could stay hidden. He would not have to worry about coming across Faramir and Eowyn together and having to endure some meaningless pleasantry. Though perhaps Faramir would just look on him with blank eyes if they did meet. After a brief plea that last morning before they had reached Edoras--"do not do this …"--Faramir had neither spoken to nor looked at him again.

Frodo had to confess to himself that he played the cold for all it was worth, clutching his shoulder on occasion to indicate not so delicately that it wasn't just the sniffles. When Gandalf came to see him the following day, Frodo supposed the wizard guessed his deception, but he saw no outward sign. Instead, Gandalf told Frodo he was not to get out of bed until he was satisfied the hobbit was fully recovered.

"Of course this means you will have to miss Theoden's funeral as well as Faramir and Eowyn's formal betrothal ceremony." He squeezed Frodo's shoulder gently at that, the usual glint in his eyes softened. "I'm sure Pippin and the others will tell you all about it."

"How much longer must we stay here?"

"Several days, I should think … a week, perhaps, though not much longer." Gandalf knelt down next to Frodo and stroked his forehead. "Do you want me to send for Faramir?"

Frodo rose up on his elbows. Just hearing Faramir's name made him frantic to get out of bed, to escape somewhere, anywhere, away from this place. A wave of dizziness came over him, and he sank back against his narrow cot. Though he had exaggerated his illness, his wooziness reminded him that it was not a complete lie.

"Frodo?"

"I heard you. No … thank you, but no." Frodo's voice sank to a whisper. "Anyway … don't think he'd want to see me now."

"I think he does. In fact, I know it."

"Tell me," Frodo said sharply, his heart flapping against his ribcage. He took a deep breath and willed the burst of hope to dissolve into what was real.

Gandalf stood up and folded his arms across his chest, his chin jutting forward with that imperious wizardly jerk. Usually Frodo found that pose endearing; today it merely irritated him.

"I saw Faramir earlier this morning. He asked how you were, and I told him you had a cold."

Frodo sat up again and leaned against the trunk that had been upended at the head of his cot. He huddled there and again tried to beat back the hope that welled up in him, blinking aside quick tears that threatened to splash down his cheeks. "What did he say?"

"Well, nothing much really, though …"

"Oh." Frodo slumped down, his voice flat.

"He started to say something, but Eowyn and Eomer came upon us, so he could not say too much."

"Oh."

Gandalf knelt again and looked into Frodo's eyes. Though Frodo wanted to look away from the wizard's piercing gaze, he was caught. Sharp as his expression was, Gandalf's voice was low and gentle. "He wants to know if he might come see you later today."

Frodo stared down at his lap, fidgeting with the pendant around his neck. What more could there be to say? How many ways could he say it?

When Frodo finally spoke, Gandalf had to lean close to catch the hobbit's quiet words. "Is he very angry with me?"

"I do not know. He does not look terribly happy, though he is doing his best to hide it … and is doing well at it."

"He tried to make me change my mind just before we arrived here … that morning at the last camp."

"And it did not work?"

"No. I know what I must do. He will understand in the end … will agree with me. It is for the best. Surely you must see that … as will he eventually."

"How very noble of you, Frodo."

Though Gandalf spoke lightly, Frodo winced as though he had been rebuked. He looked up at Gandalf and flinched at the hard look of disapproval in the wizard's eyes. Frodo had never seen that look before, at least not directed at him. It made him flush quickly--with anger. "What do you mean by that?"

Gandalf smiled faintly. "I think you are intelligent enough to discern my meaning. After all, you know what is best for Faramir even without consulting him."

"You said you would help me," Frodo said slowly. "In Minas Tirith … you guessed what I would do. And said you would help me."

Though Frodo expected an answer--even another rebuke would be something--Gandalf stayed silent. After a minute, Frodo wriggled a bit with the discomfort of the wizard's silent stare.

"Anyway," Frodo burst out, unable to bear the silence any longer. "He hasn't done anything … come see me or … or break with her, has he?"

Gandalf's eyebrows rose sharply. He snorted. "And why should he? Have you given him any sign that you want him to? Do you want him to? I thought your mind was made up."

Frodo lay back, panting a bit, hot tears stinging his eyelids. "It is made up. Just … I … I don't know. I just want to sleep. Please."

"Very well." Gandalf laid a gentling hand across Frodo's brow. "What shall I tell Faramir? Will you see him?"

Frodo shook his head. "No. It would do no good."

"Then sleep now." Gandalf stood up and smiled. "I am trying to help, Frodo."

"I know. Thank you." Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open while he watched the wizard leave the tent. His eyelids slid shut even as the tent's flap did, and he slept, his body and mind heavy with exhaustion.

* * *

So Frodo lay in his cot, sometimes sleeping restlessly, sometimes wide awake and staring for long hours into space. The past few months played in his head over and over no matter how hard he tried to stop it. In truth, he did not try to stop it very often. Sometimes it did not even make him miserable when he remembered a quick caress, a loving word. His memories were what he still had--what still belonged to him, each one cherished.

Sometimes his mind hovered over why he had made his choice, though it refused to solidify in any way that he could convey clearly to himself. One moment he had been standing in the courtyard watching Faramir with so much pride that he thought his heart would burst with love. The next moment, a vision of him and Faramir riding south from Minas Tirith had flashed clearly in his mind's eye--Faramir stripped of his honor, perhaps leaving Gondor for the last time, with only a wounded hobbit for dubious consolation. It would not be enough. He could not do it.

* * *

The morning after Theoden's funeral, Frodo lay in bed, dozing with the covers drawn up to his neck. When he heard the tent flap open, he did not open his eyes. He assumed it was Sam or Merry or Pippin--perhaps even Aragorn or Gandalf. When the visitor did not speak, he finally opened his eyes and saw Eowyn poised uncertainly at the entrance, one hand holding open the flap.

"Oh," said Frodo, sitting up hurriedly. "Hullo."

Frodo had forgotten how lovely Eowyn was. When he had arrived at Edoras, he had barely been able to see anything through his haze of misery. But now, he looked on her pale golden loveliness and could not find it in his heart to think ill of her.

"May I come in and sit with you for a while?" Eowyn asked.

"Yes … please. I would like that." To Frodo's surprise, he found that he did want her to stay. He wanted to know her a little better--needed to fix a strong memory of her in his mind for when he doubted his decision. "Congratulations on your betrothal. I'm sorry I won't be able to be there."

"We will miss you, though there are still a few days before the ceremony. I hope you might be recovered enough to join us." She smiled and shook her head. "But there … I cannot help wanting everyone I care for to be there." Eowyn walked to the bed and sat down. "Oh!" She shifted a little and drew back the covers to reveal a small rectangular box.

"Sorry!" Frodo flushed and quickly pulled it onto his lap.

"Is it a chess game? What a lovely case."

"Yes. I learned how to play in Minas Tirith."

"Is that where you got it?"

Frodo nodded and held the box out for Eowyn to take. He watched her run her hands lightly over the fine wood. What elegant, slim fingers she had. He fisted his maimed hand against his side. "Faramir gave it to me. I was sick a little, and he thought it might help pass the time of day. Do you play?"

Eowyn laughed. "Of course!" She slid the fastening aside and opened the box. "Oh, it's beautiful. I've rarely seen such a fine set. Where ever did Faramir get it?"

"It belonged to his mother. He said he thought it was the proper size for a hobbit." Frodo smiled faintly as he watched Eowyn lifting out the pieces, examining each one carefully.

"It is indeed," she said. "A fine present, I think. Have you played with Faramir?"

"Yes … many times. Gandalf, too … though Faramir taught me how to play."

With a tilt of her head, Eowyn smiled crookedly at Frodo. "And would you play a shieldmaiden?"

"Of course! Now?"

"Why not? I have nothing pressing … except a strong desire to engage a certain hobbit in battle."

Frodo laughed at that, though it sounded rusty and rough to him. "Well, then, let's begin."

* * *

"We are well-matched, are we not?" asked Eowyn.

Frodo smiled at that. It was true. Their opposing armies had battled for two hours, neither one drawing close to victory.

The rasp of canvas and a bright shaft of sunlight made them both look up. Faramir stood at the tent's opening, a hesitant smile on his face. He was clad simply in green leggings and the open-throated white shirt that Frodo loved best. Oh, Frodo had almost forgotten how handsome his lover was. No, not his lover--not any longer. Faramir belonged to Eowyn now, and Frodo must honor that.

"Am I interrupting?" Faramir asked, his eyes shifting back and forth between Frodo and Eowyn before finally coming to rest on the game that sat on a chair next to Frodo's cot.

Frodo sat up a little straighter, his back stiff, sudden beads of sweat trickling between his shoulder blades. He said nothing, just waited unsmiling. He wanted to smile, but the muscles of his mouth refused to shift.

"I think perhaps you've come at the right time." Eowyn laughed and glanced back at the chessboard quickly. "Frodo and I have been engaged in a mighty battle."

Faramir walked toward them, one hand holding his cloak slung over his shoulder. He looked down at the board. It seemed to Frodo that Faramir looked everywhere but at him.

"And is there a victory in sight yet?" Faramir asked softly, tossing his cloak on the end of the cot.

"I think not," Eowyn answered. Her eyes met Frodo's with great warmth. "We do seem to have played to a draw today, haven't we, Frodo?"

Frodo nodded and managed to lift one corner of his mouth in a crooked smile. "Yes, neither of us seems any closer to victory than when we started."

Finally, Faramir looked directly at Frodo. His voice was polite. "Are you feeling better, Frodo? I'm sorry not to have been to see you sooner."

The polite tone and distant gaze was worse than not being acknowledged. Frodo nodded. "Yes, a little." He gulped. "I'm sorry I can't come to your betrothal ceremony. Gandalf says I must stay in bed." Oh, he was tired, so tired that it took all his will not to shrink back against the cot.

Faramir said, "I'm glad you're better. We will miss you, but you must take care of yourself."

"I know."

"Come, Eowyn. We must go. I'm afraid you'll have to continue your game tomorrow. Aragorn and Eomer are waiting for us." He held his hand out to Eowyn and helped her up. Frodo watched them leave.

After the tent flap closed, Frodo sat still for a moment and looked off into space. So now they were polite strangers, all the joy and closeness washed away and gone. He started to lie down, but Faramir's cloak draped over the end of the cot stopped him. Reaching for it, he kneeled and pulled the soft fabric close. As he buried his face in it, he sank back on his heels. Faramir's scent was strong in it. Its heady warmth surrounded Frodo and pushed away everything but the scent and the memories. For the first time in days, a little peace crept back inside him.

When Frodo looked up after a minute, he saw Faramir standing at the tent's entrance. Faramir walked forward a few paces, close enough for Frodo to see tears in his lover's eyes. He shook his head. "Frodo …" He held his hands out in supplication.

Frodo dropped the cloak, its folds pooling around him. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Eowyn walked back into the tent. Too late.

"Faramir? Have you got it?"

Frodo blinked hard and held out the cloak to Faramir. When the man took it, Frodo started, for Faramir grabbed his hand beneath the soft wool and squeezed hard for a second before stepping back. Faramir looked down at Frodo and smiled; it was all Frodo could do not to cry out at the sad farewell written in that smile. As Faramir turned around and walked away, the edge of the cloak caught the chessboard, scattering the pieces onto the ground. He did not stop, just kept going--through the tent and out.

"Now look what you've done," chided Eowyn to Faramir's departing back. She winked at Frodo. "No matter. We can start again. Probably better for me, for I think you were starting to pull ahead."

Frodo smiled and tried to gather his wits about him. "I don't know about that. But, yes, we can begin again. Off you go, now. They're waiting for you. Thank you for coming to see me."

"It was my pleasure. I will see you soon." With that, Eowyn left the tent, the flap sliding silently closed, dimming the little enclosure.

Frodo got out of bed and knelt on the ground. Carefully, he picked up the fallen chess pieces, stroking each one lovingly before replacing it in its appointed place. Too late. All was moving forward inexorably, and he could not stop what he had begun.

* * *

_And Faramir and Eowyn stood forth and set hand in hand; and all there drank to them and were glad. "Thus," said Eomer, "is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice." _

"No niggard are you, Eomer," said Aragorn, "to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm."

Faramir stood quietly with his hand in Eowyn's while goblets were raised and toasts drunk to their happiness. Her slim fingers were a good match to his long, nimble ones; he knew that. Yet … He slipped his hand from hers and stepped back to watch her speak with Aragorn, a joyous smile alight in her fair face.

The Golden Hall was bright with many candles and lanterns, but at its edges shadows swallowed up its walls and pillars. Faramir blinked and craned his head forward. Who was that leaning against a dim pillar? A small form hidden by its girth. All stayed in shadow except for a hand gripping the column's stone with white knuckles--three fingers only--and a pale face looking at him with reproach-filled blue eyes.

"But I've only done what you wanted," murmured Faramir, his lips barely moving.

"Faramir?" Eowyn shook him by his sleeve, startling him out of his reverie. "Are you woolgathering at your betrothal? Are all men of Gondor so absentminded?" She laughed, pulling him to her.

With one last look at the pillar--no one there, he had surely summoned it up from his aching heart--Faramir took his place next to his betrothed and smiled at her though it cost much to form his lips into some semblance of happiness. He had moved through the days at Edoras carefully and as though shrouded in cotton wool. The cotton fell away from him now. Everything was sharp and clear in his ears and eyes for the first time in many days. What had he done? Why had he listened to Frodo? Now it was too late. _Wasn't it?_

* * *

The Fellowship was gone, riding across the plain toward the Gap of Rohan. Farewells had been said; all had mounted their horses or ponies, stamping hooves betraying their eagerness to set out and be on the move. Faramir had walked from one to another saying his farewells. When he had reached Frodo, they had stared at each for a silent minute. Frodo's eyes had been calm as had been Faramir's. Faramir had finally leaned forward and embraced Frodo gently. When Frodo clutched his arm briefly, Faramir had melted and it had taken all his will not to pull the hobbit tight. Though their expressions had betrayed nothing, each had heard a quick whisper--_"love you"_\--before they had parted.

Now Faramir stood at the top of the broad stone steps of Edoras with Meduseld looming behind him. It was a cold day, and a chill wind was snarling his hair. The wailing of the wind struck him deep in his heart. He stood there alone for long minutes watching the receding Fellowship as they departed Edoras. It seemed to Faramir as he stood there that a band connected him to Frodo; at the lodge Faramir had believed it would never break, always keep them whole and one. The farther Frodo rode away, the tighter the once supple band grew. Soon it would break, Faramir's end recoiling back to strike him.

Each one of the Fellowship turned back every now and then for a glimpse of the Golden Hall--all except Frodo. Faramir kept his eyes trained on the hobbit, but Frodo never looked back. He rode next to Aragorn with a straight back and steady shoulders. Though he might have been mistaken, it seemed to Faramir that, just before the party grew so distant he could no longer see them clearly, Aragorn leaned down and drew Frodo from his pony onto his horse, settling the hobbit in front of him.

Gone.

Tighter--the band stretched hard and tight around Faramir's heart.

Breathe. Just breathe.

It was done. All gone. He had allowed it.

He had wavered too long in his fog of uncertainty, and now it was too late.

Tighter. How far could it stretch and not break?

Faramir started when someone wrapped a cloak around him. He tugged it around his shoulders gratefully and turned to see Eowyn standing before him. He smiled at her with gentle eyes.

She said, "It's getting cold. Come inside."

"In a little."

"You will miss them, won't you? Especially Frodo, I think?"

"Yes."

She stroked his forehead with warm fingers. "You are very like to each other. Will you write to him? Letters would surely reach him now that there is peace."

He pushed back a brief gleam of hope as the band tightened even more. "No. I think not."

Eowyn smiled and stepped back a pace. "No matter. Come. It is cold and growing late."

Faramir took one step forward and opened his mouth to speak, his stomach churning with uncertainty. He had to say something--tell the truth and blast the consequences. The band loosened infinitesimally at the thought of telling her what was in his heart and being set free.

"What is it?" Eowyn asked.

He looked at her a long minute, and the band bit hard again. What could he say? What would be the point? Nothing Frodo had said or done since that last night before they reached Edoras told Faramir differently. "Nothing. You're right, it is cold. Let us go inside."

Faramir followed Eowyn to the great wooden doors of Meduseld, his footsteps coming with great effort as though he strained against something dragging him back. After Eowyn stepped inside, he stopped a moment and turned back around to gaze out at the empty plain. He saw nothing there now but the wide sea of grass rippling in the wind. Frodo was gone, and Faramir's heart had gone with him. There was no sound but the keening of the cold wind as it whipped around the age-hardened timbers of the Golden Hall and pushed Faramir through the door.

Tighter. The band's edges frayed.

* * *

Choose your ending: **Faramir's Choice** or **Frodo's Choice**


	6. Epilogue: Faramir's Choice

Epilogue: Faramir's Choice

 

A spring night in the peaceful woods of Emyn Arnen was not a bad time to be sleepless. The door closing behind him with a quiet snick, Faramir headed for the woods, thinking that he might as well walk amongst his beloved trees--there would surely be no sleep for him tonight. Though, maybe later when the full moon sank behind the hills … maybe not.

Faramir walked quickly down a path leading to the woods, turning at the edge of the trees and looking back at his home, pride and contentment filling him at the sight of the mellow old stone. Though others had urged him to build new, he and Eowyn had not wanted that, instead inviting Gimli's kin from the Lonely Mountain to help with the old house's rebirth. Each newly restored room repaid Faramir's trust in the dwarves sevenfold, every block of stone lovingly repaired and polished before being set back in its rightful place. Restore the old stone--restore the land.

After a quick glance up at the bright moon, Faramir turned and walked on into the woods, the trees drawing close around him. He moved swiftly, one hand held tightly to his chest, his fingers stroking the soft suede of his tunic. When he came upon a place where the path broadened for several yards, he stopped and leaned against a stone bench that stood by a little stream. He smiled as he remembered the day he and his servants had freed the bench from long seasons of encroaching growth, its sturdy bulk covered with vines entwined thickly around it. Now it was his favorite place, his private retreat when he needed to be alone with his memories.

Faramir sat down on the bench, seeing nothing but the surrounding wood and hearing nothing but the stream's gentle splash against stone. Now that it was spring, the days were growing warmer, but the late night was cool and he shivered from its chill.

The moon hung like a great round pearl in the sky, bathing his face with its serene light as he tilted his chin upward. After resting a moment, Faramir remembered what had driven him out into the cool night and reached into his tunic, pulling out a sheaf of papers. The light from a full moon over Ithilien would be bright enough for him to read again the letters that had arrived in the late afternoon, come like a bolt out of the blue into his busy life. He separated the delicate white sheets from the thick cream page that surrounded them, laying them carefully on the bench before angling the thick one to catch the light.

> _30 October, 1421 S.R.  
> The Prancing Pony, Bree_
> 
> Prince Faramir,
> 
> My greetings to you and my best wishes that all is well with you and yours. I hope this letter reaches you.
> 
> I am sending you a letter from Mr. Frodo. He has gone away--gone away to the Havens and over sea, along with Bilbo, Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond and other folk from Rivendell. I went with him as far as the Havens and said goodbye to him there. Couldn't go no further, not that I need tell you what it cost me to watch him leave. You'll know.
> 
> The morning after I got back home to Bag End, I went into Mr. Frodo's study and found this letter. He didn't say nothing to me about it before he left, but then he didn't tell me nothing about where we was going when we set out. I thought he was on his way to visit Bilbo in Rivendell until we came upon Bilbo and the others in the Woody End. I knew what he was on about then though I couldn't stop him. Didn't really try. It wouldn't have done no good if I had.
> 
> I haven't read the letter so I don't rightly know what he's said. It didn't seem right to me to look at it, but I hope it finds you. I think it will. Butterbur says someone passing through Bree will be willing to take it. There's a lot of travel now between the north and the south, so I believe him. Please write me back so I know.
> 
> He tried to get better. I know he did, but it was just too hard, you see. Not with his illness coming on him so much and making him miserable. Sometimes I'd find him and it was like he was looking at things that I couldn't see. Do you remember that jewel the Lady Arwen gave him? He always had it tight in his hand when the bad turns came on him. I think it helped him some, just not enough.
> 
> Maybe you could have stopped him, but he saw to that when he left you at Rohan. Bagginses always were stubborn, and he was the most stubborn of them all to my way of thinking. Maybe it's better this way.
> 
> He didn't talk about you much, just sometimes late at night when we would sit in front of the fire. It always cheered him up when he talked about you. His face got all peaceful like when he would tell me some little thing you'd said or done, and he'd look like his old self for a little while. You made him that happy. Thought you would like to know that.
> 
> Anyways, here is his letter. I know you'll like to have it. He loved you, he did.
> 
> I am well. I have married my Rosie, and we have a little girl called Elanor after the star flower in Lorien. She's that pretty.
> 
> I'll end now with my greetings to you again. Fare you well.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Samwise Gamgee

 

"They got here safe and sound, Sam," murmured Faramir. "Thank you."

Faramir sat silently looking at Sam's forthright script, not really seeing it though the words were already engraved inside him, written on the deepest part of his heart. The part he usually kept buried, his dearest treasure held safe within his sheltering heart.

With a quick blink, Faramir cleared his blurred eyes. Though his hands had shook when he had opened the envelope and recognized Sam and Frodo's handwriting, the news had not surprised him, not really. The hidden part of him that belonged to Frodo had waited for it, had known it would come one day.

He looked down at the thin sheets of paper that seemed so fragile as they rustled a little in the light breeze. Fixing his eyes on Frodo's graceful script, he stroked the letter gently and steeled himself to read it again, read it one more time before sealing it away somewhere safe, memorize the words though even now snatches of it came whole to his mind.

> _20 September, 1421 S.R.  
> Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire_

Faramir,

I don't know if you'll ever get this letter, but somehow I think Sam will manage to get it to you even if he has to deliver it himself.

This is my last night at Bag End, for I am leaving tomorrow. Sam is going with me for a ways though he doesn't know yet where I'm headed. He thinks I'm just going to visit Bilbo in Rivendell, and I haven't the heart to tell him that I'm going to the Grey Havens and leaving Middle-earth. I will see Bilbo, will see him when we meet in the quiet heart of the Shire. We will go together and not be separated again in this life.

I can't stay here any longer. It's no good. Maybe I should have tried harder.

_Tried harder._ How? Faramir looked up at the full moon, blinking back sudden tears of shame. The moon's cool radiance on the paper turned Frodo's words to old silver, ancient as the moon itself, unreachable.

> _The dried flowers are from the mallorn tree that is growing in the Party Field now. Did I ever tell you about the little box that Galadriel gave Sam? It was just a plain wooden box with a "G" rune on its lid, but Sam managed to hold on to it all the way through Mordor and back home again. He didn't rightly know what to do with the contents when he remembered it after we got home. It had a little earth from Galadriel's garden and one large seed. He took the earth and went all around the Shire planting new trees to replace the ones that had been cut down while we were gone on our journey. He was so careful, just put a single grain of the earth among the roots of the saplings. You should see how quickly they have grown!_
> 
> There used to be a large tree in the Party Field. The field was outside Bag End, and we called it the Party Field because that's where we had Bilbo's birthday party the night he went away and the Ring came to me.
> 
> When we got home, we found the tree had been cut down as so many others had been. So many beautiful trees … all gone. Sam took the seed and planted it where the party tree had been. In the place of the old tree, a mallorn now grows. It's the only one outside of Lorien, and it is very beautiful. I wish you could see it.

"So do I, my love." The blossoms were tucked away safely now as though they were the most precious of heirlooms. Faramir had seen to it after dinner when he had been able to get away for a few minutes and had slipped into his study in search of his private journal. He had pressed the faded gold petals--somehow unbroken all the way from the Shire to Ithilien--between its pages. They lay safely there now, locked in his desk.

> _I like to sit beneath it sometimes and remember things. I like it when I remember the good things, the happy times. But it's gotten too hard. Sometimes it seems like I'm not even really here, that there's a sort of fine mist between me and the Shire. I'm glad my home was saved, but it's not been saved for me to enjoy it. That's for others, and I'm glad of it. I wouldn't change a thing._

_I wouldn't change a thing._ Faramir shook his head at that. "And is there anything that I would change?" He sat still, Frodo's words echoing in his mind. Though his heart cried out for things to have happened differently, he knew his regrets were useless, more than useless considering the life he now had. After Frodo had left him, he had been sure that no joy would come to him ever again. He had been wrong.

> _I dream a lot, even when I'm awake sometimes it seems like I'm dreaming. I won't tell you about the bad dreams. You already know about those. It's the same ones that still chase me in the night._

"And me not there to help you. Did you wake in the night reaching for me?"

> _Sometimes I dream about you--simple dreams, just you and me walking somewhere hand in hand. I can't really tell where. Just you and me together. When I have the bad dreams, it's so hard to pull away from them. They poison my days, and they come too often now. But when I dream about you, I'm so happy. When I dream of you in the night and wake in the morning, I'm so happy that it carries me through the day. I feel you all around me then, can almost smell you. But it's not enough. The happy dreams don't come often enough, and even then the dark thoughts creep back into me and it's as if I never dreamed of you. I can't find you when the dark thoughts come._

Faramir closed his eyes and let the happy memories wash over him for a minute. He grinned as Frodo sat before him again with the mithril circlet caught in his hair and a stifled oath on his lips. How inconsequential untangling Frodo's curls had seemed at the time, a simple task for patient fingers, and yet it had started everything. Then there had been all those quiet hours playing chess in his rooms in Minas Tirith or at the lodge, the two of them moving in easy harmony even as their armies battled for supremacy on the small board laid out between them. "Come back, and I'll let you win. I promise … you can push me in the cold pool if I lie." Faramir didn't think he'd ever forget the look on Frodo's face when the hobbit had come upon the pools and looked back at Faramir with such a wide look of joy on his beautiful face. A look that Faramir had thought concealed nothing …

> _I hope you are happy and well. I'm sorry for the way I left you and pray you have forgiven me. You made me very happy, do you know that? That's one of the things that bothers me so much when I think back on how I left you at Rohan, that maybe you didn't know how happy you made me. There was so little time then, and you were so angry, and I just wanted to get it over and done with, and then all of a sudden we were leaving and I couldn't turn back, though I wanted to so badly the muscles in my neck seized up from the effort not to turn round and look for you. Did you watch me? I remember riding away with the sound of your voice still in my ears, trying to fix your face in my mind. You see, I wanted to keep it clear down to the last laugh line around your eyes, that little scar next to your ear, the way your hair fell forward over your brow. I can almost reach out right now and run my fingers over your lips, brush my knuckles against your eyelids; you're that clear to me now. Your face will be the last thing I see before I die._
> 
> I don't think I can write any more now.
> 
> I love you. Please believe that and forgive me.
> 
> Namarië,
> 
> Frodo

"Forgive you? Always." Faramir sat still while Frodo's words sank into him, starting when he saw a tear drop splash on the paper and smear one word, its ink running in a silvery gray stream down the page. He slid to the ground and curled into a little ball with his knees drawn tight to his chest, giving in fully to his tears for the first time since Frodo had ridden away from him and he had been frozen with despair. With his arms clasped tight around his knees, he rocked helplessly back and forth, shaken by the sobs that were torn from his aching chest. Though he had known they would never meet again, until now he had not really believed it. Some little part of him had always dreamed of a day when Frodo would ride back to Gondor, come back to him. Now that would never happen.

The band held tight now, the band that stretched as far as Faramir needed and would never break, never hurt him, not any more. It was his comfort, his only consolation during the long minutes while his body shook from his tears of sorrow and regret and lost love. At one point, he sat forward suddenly, listening intently, his outthrust palm bearing the weight of his trembling body. There was nothing there, no soft voice whispering, not even the hissing of the wind--only Faramir's quick panting that caught deep in his throat. "I miss you," he whispered. "Don't go so far that I can't find you sometimes." That could never happen, not while he drew breath and could feel Frodo's arms about him, Frodo's soft lips opening to him in his clear memory. Though Faramir had found peace and a measure of happiness in his life in Ithilien, Frodo was his heart and always would be. Even now, Faramir had only to close his eyes to see his lover's tender face, trace the clear line of Frodo's jaw with his gentle fingers. Frodo's face would be the last thing he saw when he drew his last breath in Middle-earth.

* * *

The light of dawn was creeping in among the trees when Faramir knelt by the side of the stream and stared at the quiet water. He could almost see his reflection, but it was still too dark for him to make our more than a wavering form that dissolved when he looked too closely. Cupping his hands, he let the cold water run over his fingers before bringing them to his face, his eyes still warm with fresh tears. Faramir repeated the action several times, each slow bathing a balm to his sore eyes. It was quiet when he walked home, so quiet that the only sounds he heard were his soft breathing and the gentle breeze playing in the trees. He stopped a minute when he reached the borders of the wood and looked at his home. _Home._ He was so tired, knew he would sleep deeply.

It was time to tuck Frodo away once more, deep and safe in his loving heart. After going into his study and placing the letters gently within the pages of his journal, Faramir walked slowly to his bedchamber. He stood quietly for a minute and looked on Eowyn as she slept peacefully in their bed, the light of dawn slanting across her pale hair. In the morning when she woke, he would tell her of the letters, would tell her that Frodo had gone away forever. She would stroke his forehead when she saw his sadness, might even urge him to unburden his heart. Sometimes he thought she had guessed his secret though she never pressed him too hard. His fierce shieldmaiden was always gentle with him, and he loved her for that. But sometimes he thought he saw the light of knowing in her steady eyes and yearned to tell her. No. It was his secret to keep, his dishonor to hold.

Eowyn shifted in her sleep when Faramir slid into bed beside her, turning over and pressing her back against him. Warm, she was so warm. Faramir loved her warmth, seeking it now as he wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling her swollen belly. When the babe moved, poking out an elbow or a knee, Faramir smiled. "Sshh … do not wake your mother, my little one." He stroked the restless limbs with gentle fingers until the movement ceased and his child drifted calmly once again. As the day lightened outside, Faramir finally slept, lulled by the soft rhythm of Eowyn's breathing, held safe in the cradle of his family. At peace.

* * *

_But in dreams  
I still hear your name  
And in dreams  
We will meet again  
("In Dreams," by Fran Walsh and Howard Shore)_

The End


	7. Epilogue: Frodo's Choice

Epilogue 2: Frodo's Choice

Warnings: A.U.

 

Faramir followed Eowyn into Meduseld's great hall, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the stone. Yesterday, the hall had been filled with well-wishers at their betrothal banquet, filled with those who had watched them clasp hands in front of all. This afternoon it stood empty. He watched Eowyn as she stood close to the smoke-blackened hearth, warming her hands at the glowing coals. Though he knew he must be chilled from standing so long in the wind, he felt nothing, was numb inside and out.

Turning her head a moment to smile at him, Eowyn said, "It is good to be alone finally. I will miss them, but I cannot help being a little relieved that things will quiet down now and I can have your company all to myself." She laughed and turned her face toward the fire again.

Tight, the band was so tight now that he could barely breathe as he stood there in the middle of the empty hall, rubbing his chest with one hand.

"Faramir? Is something wrong?"

Focusing again, Faramir saw that Eowyn had turned around and was looking at him with a gentle question in her eyes. _Tell her._ He shook his head, his mouth working a bit, though no words escaped.

Eowyn walked to him quickly and stroked his forehead. "You've gone so pale. No fever, I think, but perhaps you're taking Frodo's illness."

It doesn't matter. None of it matters—not affairs of state, not exile to Umbar, not even that he broke with you. Only tell her what is in your heart. The fraying band eased a bit, enough so that he could speak.

He looked intently into Eowyn's face, storing away the memory of her loving expression. "I can't do this … it's no good."

Eowyn tilted her head, her brows drawn together in perplexity. "Do what?"

"I'm sorry. It's my fault, all my fault. But I can't. It won't work." His voice was tight in his throat, sounding to his own ears as if it were coming from a great distance.

Her expression changed then, just a slight tightening of her jaw. She said quietly with grave eyes, "Tell me."

Faramir gripped her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "I can't stay with you now."

She said nothing to that, though her eyes widened with confusion.

"I have to be with him."

"Be with … who? I don't understand."

"Frodo."

She laughed then with what seemed to Faramir to be a quick exhalation of relief, still not understanding. "Do you want to go after him, ride with him for a few days? You have only to say so. I know you had little time to spend with him while he was here."

"No. I … I love him. And he loves me. You and I … we cannot wed."

Hot color flared in her cheeks as she pulled away from his clutching hands and looked him up and down, understanding finally rising in her eyes. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, but … I can't stay with you. It would not be fair."

"Fair!" Faramir recoiled at the sharpness of her voice, as hard and clear as though she had slapped him. "Fair …" Her voice trailed off as she backed away from him and paced about the room a minute, shaking her head. Stopping, she looked at him again, her color high, her eyes filled with the pain of full knowledge. "Yet you stood with me in front of all and plighted your troth … knowing that you would break with me. Knowing you would do this and go to him." Her voice broke a little, just a quiet catch at the back of her throat. "Was it all planned and rehearsed between you?" Holding out her hand, fingers limp, she stared at him, and he knew what pain lay in her bereft eyes, had carried the same hurt for a week now.

Faramir shook his head and started to go to her, but her raised palm stopped him. "No. Not planned. He does not know I am doing this … does not want me to." Faramir swallowed hard, beating back a fierce surge of love and pride for Frodo, bracing himself to speak calmly. "He … broke with me, could not do this to you. He did not even want me to tell you about us … begged me not to."

She laughed; harsh and bitter it sounded in his ears. "Oh, yes … how noble of Frodo." Straightening her shoulders, Eowyn stared at him with ice in her eyes, her voice whip sharp. "How dare you?"

Faramir stood his ground, though the look in her eyes wilted him as he stood before her with his hands held out in supplication. For what? Forgiveness? Blessing? Fool.

"I don't expect your forgiveness … or even understanding. Not now."

"Oh, really? How noble of you, Faramir … how very noble of you. The two of you are indeed a fine pair. May you have joy of each other's nobility."

Walking to the long banquet table, she gripped its sides so tightly that Faramir could see her knuckles whiten from the strain. After a long moment, she picked up a goblet from the table, one of the very goblets that had been used in the toasts to their happiness. Perhaps his lips had drunk from it during his faithless acceptance of her hand. She looked at it a minute and flung it hard to the ground, watching it shatter into a hundred sharp fragments

Faramir flinched at the rasp of glass against stone but said nothing. What more could he say?

When Eowyn turned around and faced him again, her gaze focused somewhere past his shoulder, all the heat in her had died down. Though tears trailed down her face, she stood tall and straight, her voice strong. "Get you gone. I cannot bear the sight of you. You are … unnatural."

Intending to turn and leave, instead his unwilling footsteps compelled him toward the hearth, the fire, toward her. Surely he could find better words to explain to her why he was standing here breaking faith with her in a matter of a few dozen words. There must be something left to say, some words he could find to make her understand. When, finally, she met his eyes with a cold, proud look, her harsh whisper told him it was too late. "Go to your lover … if he will have you, for I surely will not. Get out."

Though the door seemed a mile away, Faramir's rapid strides made quick work of the distance. Turning back at the broad doorway, he saw her silhouetted against a dull gold hanging, her rising shadow barely wavering. "I'm sorry." Only a slight tremor of her hand clutched in her gown--and the sudden jerk of her shadow--told him that she had heard him.

"I'm sorry." With one last glance over his shoulder, Faramir left.

* * *

Faramir rode hard and fast, but it was growing close to midnight when he caught up with the travelers. The farther he rode, the more worried he grew that he would somehow miss them, turn astray in the dark night and stumble about lost. When he finally saw a pale gleam of light ahead, he sighed with relief, pressing down the sudden tangle of nervousness that rose in his belly, but grateful all the same for the flickering beacons guiding him to Frodo.

The small sparks of light grew to a bright glow the closer he came. When he had ridden within one hundred yards of the encampment, a guard called out in challenge and warning. He jumped off his horse quickly and walked forward with one hand held outward in token of peace as he identified himself. The soldier started with surprise when Faramir came close but bowed low in recognition and took the reins of his horse.

The Fellowship was seated around one of the camp fires, finishing up their evening meal, having a quiet smoke. At first, Faramir could see everyone but Frodo though his eyes were scanning constantly as he approached them. _He must be lying down in one of the tents, not want to be with anyone._ As he came within the circle of the fire's light, he breathed a sigh of relief to see Frodo's familiar curly head leaning against Aragorn's arm. The King's tall body had merely shielded Frodo from Faramir's view.

There were a few gasps of surprise as Faramir stepped into the light of the fire, though no one spoke. Frodo did not see him at first, so intent was he on staring into the flames, huddled miserably against Aragorn. At a quick tug on his sleeve by Aragorn, the hobbit looked up, and Faramir almost wept when Frodo's eyes met his. Though he had seen Frodo in many moods--joy, passion, pain, fear, sadness--he had not seen stark despair, not like this. It seemed to Faramir that all of the light in Frodo's eyes had gone out and only an infinite sadness remained.

Frodo whispered, his eyes widening with surprise, "What are you doing here?"

Swallowing hard, Faramir took a deep breath and spoke, his voice clear. "I've come to take you back with me."

Impossibly, the grief in Frodo's eyes seemed to deepen, his voice rising sharply as he spoke. "So you told her about us? Why did you do that? I begged you not to."

"Hush. Yes, I told her. I told her why you had left … that I could not wed her even though you had broken with me."

When Frodo stood up and quickly backed away, shaking his head, Faramir followed him and knelt down, stroking the hobbit's pale cheek. "Why?" Frodo asked, his voice cracking with pain.

Faramir took Frodo by his shoulders and shook him lightly. "Why? Because I love you … you woolly-footed numbskull. Did you think that by nobly stepping aside, I would just accept that and live in wedded bliss after what you and I had meant to each other? After what we promised each other at the lodge?"

Faramir almost laughed when Frodo spluttered a bit. "Y-yes. But you did … saw the two of you hand in hand at Meduseld."

"That was wrong of me … don't know why I did it. You caught me by surprise." Frodo pulled away from Faramir's grasp, cocking his head a little to catch the man's pleading words. "I love you, Frodo. I made my choice in Minas Tirith and never looked back. Why won't you believe me?" When Frodo did not respond with either word or look, Faramir shook his head and continued, fear thick in his voice. "Or do you prefer to live among your shadows? Perhaps I have been wrong about you … maybe your pain and shadows give you more of what you need that I can." Faramir stopped and leaned back on his haunches, staring into Frodo's stubborn eyes, gathering his will for one last effort. "Frodo! Choose now, and make your choice knowing that I am free to make mine."

Frodo stepped back and looked at Faramir, his face tense, the expression in his eyes unfathomable. Faramir made no move toward him, just watched him patiently. After a minute, when Frodo neither spoke nor moved toward him, he closed his eyes, unable to bear the waiting. He had been wrong after all. Frodo was gone from him, had made his choice.

Faramir's eyes were closed so tight that he did not see Frodo walking to him, did not hear the hobbit's quiet footsteps. He was so filled with his loss, kneeling with his head bowed, that he felt nothing until the gentle pressure of Frodo's head on his shoulder roused him. Frodo gasped as Faramir's arms went around him tight, so tight. Faramir whispered, "I'll not let you get away from me again."

Frodo's voice was quiet but resolute. "I don't want to get away."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak again, but his voice was muffled by Frodo's mouth closing on his hungrily. Great famished kisses took Faramir's breath away, Frodo's tongue pushing past his lips, tasting him, his arms wrapped tight around Faramir's neck as though he would never let go.

They clung together tightly, as tightly as their mouths pressed and shifted, the band snug around them, strong and supple.

Finally, Frodo dragged his mouth across Faramir's face, dropping soft kisses on his cheek, under his ear, whispering quickly--"mine"--before claiming Faramir's mouth once again.

Mine.

* * *

2 April, 3021 (1421 S.R.)

 

Faramir arrived home, walking quickly into his stone house perched high above the Bay of Umbar. Though it was just the middle of spring, the day was hot and fine, the sun beating down on him. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he stood in the dim coolness just inside the door, glad to be out of the fierce heat of the south.

When he heard laughter coming from the balcony, he smiled and walked toward it. Good. Frodo must be feeling better. Faramir leaned against the open doorway to the balcony and looked out, careful to keep in its shadow. Frodo and Rian were sitting at a table, their feet swinging above the stone pavement. The Bay sparkled in the sun far below them, sailboats bobbing on the gentle waves. He watched them quietly, stifling his laughter so that they would not see him just yet. They sat there peeling freshly grilled shrimp, devouring them quickly, then pelting each other with the thin coral shells and laughing.

How good Rian was with Frodo, and how grateful Faramir was to Beregond for coming into exile with them, bringing Bergil and Rian with him. He was so thankful for their presence; they had become a little family of five in the many months they had lived in the City of the Corsairs. Grateful, yes--especially for the little girl. She had spent tireless hours at Frodo's bedside the past few weeks--was there any time his illness came on him--reading to him, trying to bring a smile to the hobbit's downcast mouth with a silly joke or story, sitting silently with him and stroking his maimed hand.

Taking advantage of the two friends' inattention, Faramir inspected Frodo quickly from top to bottom, glad to see the returning color in his face. Oh, yes, the hot sun of Umbar would see that his fair skin turned a light rosy tan again. Faramir loved how the tan made Frodo's eyes that much more brilliant. And how easily Frodo had taken to the garb of Umbar--and well he should, considering that comfort was paramount. Today the hobbit wore floppy white linen trousers--shortened to be of a hobbity length--a thin white shirt with long tails hanging down almost to his knees, and a deep blue brocade vest that ended just above his waist.

"Are you spying on us?" Frodo asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Ah. He had been discovered.

Oh, how Faramir had missed that look; he would do anything to see it. How he loved Frodo. He knew Frodo loved him, but every time the illness came on the hobbit and he found Frodo perched over the balcony's balustrade staring out at the Bay with unseeing eyes and murmuring something unintelligible, it broke Faramir's heart to know that he was not enough, try though he did. Every time that happened, he would take Frodo gently by the hand and lead him back to bed, hold him while he trembled, hold him until he slept pressed up against Faramir, clutching so tight.

"Yes. You're feeling better?" Faramir tried to keep even a hint of worry from his voice, knew that it made Frodo impatient to be fussed over once the worst had passed.

"Yes … much." Frodo smiled gently, his eyes soft.

Faramir walked forward a few paces and surveyed the shells that littered the tabletop. "I don't suppose you've left me any?"

Frodo and Rian looked at each with quickly feigned guilt. "Shall I make you some more?" asked Rian. "There's plenty."

"Oh no, you don't," said Frodo sternly, stopping her with a quick hand as she tried to rise. "I don't believe you've done your lesson today. I'll get some more. You study."

Though she grumbled a bit about hard taskmasters, Rian settled down quickly, a small smile curving her mouth. Faramir smiled down at her studious curly head, her long hair tumbling about her shoulders in an unruly mass, just a little longer than Frodo's now. Faramir wasn't completely sure, but he thought that Rian tolerated the Elvish lessons just to be close to Frodo, to please him, make him smile. Just like Faramir. How they both worked to please Frodo, to heal him.

When Frodo started to rise, Faramir said, "No … don't bother. I'm not hungry. You'd not believe the lunch Hallas just gave me. I'm surprised I was able to get up from table and walk home."

Rian lifted her head, eyes wide. "Tell us. What did you have? Those long noodles with tomato and garlic and cheese? Big, fat meatballs?"

Faramir laughed. "Er … yes, I think so. Though there were so many courses that I'm not sure I remember everything." He gestured at her book. "Come on … do you think I want Frodo angry at me for distracting you from your lesson?"

She stuck out her tongue but returned to her book. When Faramir sauntered over to Frodo and dropped a quick kiss on his upturned mouth, Rian rolled her eyes. "Stop it. Mush."

Frodo laughed. "We like mush."

Straightening up, Faramir walked back toward the house. "I think I'll change. I'm a little …" He looked down at more than a few telltale stains on his white shirt.

"Yes, do that," Frodo said. "Unless you want Rian and me to guess the entire lunch menu, which I suspect we might be able to do, considering the state of your shirt. Oh … there's a letter from Aragorn."

Faramir stopped at the doorway, one hand on its smooth wood. "Really? Where is it?"

"On your desk."

"Right. Thank you. What does he say?"

"Haven't read it."

"Why not?"

"It was addressed just to you, so …"

Faramir smiled and nodded, turning into the house. "How odd …"

As Faramir walked through the main room toward their study, Frodo called out to him. "And take off that shirt … put it in to soak so the laundress doesn't have such a hard time getting out the stains."

"All right, love. Will do."

Faramir walked past the study into their bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the cool dimness that was so pleasant after the bright sun on the balcony. He undressed quickly and pulled on a robe of burgundy linen, long and cool. Belting it around his waist, he walked to his study, Frodo's instructions forgotten.

Coming into the small, book-case lined room--how pleasant that both Frodo and he had such a passion for reading--he sat at his desk and smiled fondly at the one facing his. Frodo's desk had been specially built so that it was the same height as Faramir's but with a few adjustments so that it was comfortable for Frodo's smaller size.

Faramir stretched and rubbed his overly full belly. No dinner for him. He eyed the thick envelope sitting squarely on the center of the desk and picked it up, tearing it open quickly. In it he found a note from Aragorn and another envelope. He set down Aragorn's note without reading it and looked carefully at the envelope, turning the small square in his hands and running his fingers over the wax sealing it shut. He went very still as he looked at the imprint of a running horse, the sign of the House of Eorl.

When he opened the envelope, carefully peeling back the sealing wax, he found one sheet of paper inside. The letter was brief, just a few lines written in a slanting script, no salutation.

_I would not have you live your life away from the country you love and have served so faithfully. I have written Aragorn that, if he calls you back, I will not object. Fare you well._

Eowyn

Faramir stared at the clear sentences, a quiet buzzing filling his head. He blinked a few times and reread the note. No, he had not dreamed it.

"Is everything all right?"

Faramir started. He had not heard Frodo come into the room. Beckoning to the hobbit with the letter held in his hand, he nodded. Frodo took the letter and read it quickly. He looked up at Faramir with the most brilliant smile Faramir had ever seen on his lover's face.

"We can go back?"

Faramir shrugged. He felt a little at sea, didn't really know what he felt. It had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly. Remembering that he hadn't read Aragorn's letter, he grabbed it and scanned the one line written in Aragorn's strong hand.

_Come home._

Faramir smiled, tears starting in his eyes. "Yes."

* * *

30 May, 3021 (1421 S.R.)

The night was pleasantly warm in the courtyard of the white tree as Frodo and Arwen sat on the bench talking quietly. Every now and then, one of them would look over at Faramir and Aragorn standing under the tree as they examined it and looked up at the stars.

Nodding at the tree, Arwen said, "It has not bloomed since its planting, though it has grown much … has many buds on it though it is too late in the season for them to open. It had buds on it last year as well, but they just withered on their boughs. I think it hasn't enough strength yet."

Frodo answered, "Well, that's not too unusual … I think, though I don't have Sam here to confirm that for me." He smiled. "Sometimes that happens when you move a tree or flowering shrub. It takes a while for it to recover its full health."

Arwen nodded. They sat silently for a few minutes until Arwen spoke again. "Are you looking forward to leaving?"

"Oh, yes."

"We will miss you."

Frodo tilted his head and grimaced lightly. "Then you shall have to come visit us … that is, once we have things set up properly at Lake Evendim. It was good of Aragorn to think of Faramir going to Arnor to help re-establish the Kingdom in the North."

Nudging Frodo with her elbow, Arwen said, "You should have seen Estel's face when he thought of it. He was like a child with an ill-kept secret."

Frodo grinned.

"He loves you deeply, Frodo. It grieved him that you and Faramir had to go so far away from us … not that Arnor is not also far, but …"

"I know."

Arwen sighed lightly, pausing for a moment before continuing a little more brightly. "So … you will see the Shire again soon … and not too many years longer than you once expected. Are you excited?"

Frodo nodded his head, his face split by a wide grin. "More than I can say."

"And is the Shire the farthest west you will go on this trip?"

Frodo looked her in the eye, his expression as serene as the spring sky above him. "Yes. I'll go no farther." He slipped his hand into the open neck of his shirt and pulled out the crystal pendant. Unfastening it, he held it out to Arwen. "You gave this to me to help me when the shadows come on me."

"Has it helped, Ringbearer?"

"Yes, sometimes. Please do not think me rude, but … Frodo, just Frodo will do."

Arwen inclined her head. "No offense taken, Frodo. Do you wish to return the jewel?"

Frodo nodded.

"You do not need it any longer?"

"No, though I thank you for the gift and would not have you think me ungrateful."

"Of course I do not. It gives me great joy to see you so healed. Have the shadows all drawn away?"

Frodo glanced at the tree, its two guardians standing beneath it, listening intently to Arwen and Frodo's conversation. When Frodo held out his hand, Faramir walked quickly to the bench, knelt down and wrapped an arm around Frodo's waist, a look of wonder in his face, tears running freely down his cheeks. He whispered to the hobbit, "Are you sure?"

After nodding and wiping away Faramir's tears with gentle fingers, Frodo answered Arwen. "No, the shadows still come sometimes … mostly in October and March."

"But you can bear it without the pendant to help you," Arwen said softly, her eyes shining.

Frodo leaned against Faramir, feeling the man's arm tighten about his waist and the steady thump of heartbeat against his own shoulder. "I have something better to help me when the pain comes." Frodo pressed closer to Faramir, warm and content and sure in his lover's arms. "The jewel can help draw away the shadows sometimes, but it can't hold me. It can't listen to me and understand what I am saying. It can't love me. I do not need it."

Arwen took the offered pendant and smiled down at it. "I am glad, Frodo. I would say to you to tell me if you change your mind, but I do not believe that will happen."

They sat for a few more moments, together in companionable silence until Faramir whispered, "Come to bed."

Frodo laughed. "But it is early yet."

"Yes, yes … still ..."

"All right."

The four stood and walked slowly out of the courtyard, a light wind pushing them forward and rustling among the tree's leaves.

* * *

The tree was so happy tonight that its leaves shivered from the slenderest twig swaying at its top to its sturdiest bough. It had missed the little hobbit and the tall man when they had gone away. How it had looked forward to blooming for them--especially for the halfing--knew it would make them smile.

A few minutes after the four had left, a certain light high up in the Tower winked out. Soon after, light cries drifted out of an open window down into the quiet courtyard.

The tree stilled its moving leaves and listened happily until the cries and sighs died down and all was silent again.

If anyone had been watching, he would have said the tree was concentrating mightily on something. All of a sudden, a tightly furled bud unfolded to reveal a shapely white blossom. And then another … and another … until the entire tree was crowned with newborn flowers that were as ancient as the first petals of Telperion.

Finally, the tree rested from its labors, well-pleased to know that the little one would look out the window in the early morning light and see what it had made for him.

* * *

As dawn crept into the courtyard, the tree heard a gasp of delight.

"Faramir, look!"

"It bloomed for you, Frodo."

"Oh, you are a sentimental man."

"That I am, my love. That I am."

The tree quivered with joy, silvery drops of dew falling onto the tender green grass, myriad crystals sparkling like the finest diamonds. _Listen to the man, Frodo. He knows._

 

The End … for now


End file.
